


Pilgrimage

by ebi_pers



Series: Please Leave All Drama On The Stage [4]
Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ricky Bowen Needs A Hug (HSM: The Series), Strained Relationships, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebi_pers/pseuds/ebi_pers
Summary: "It’s been seven years since he’s seen this neighborhood, this street, this house. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he’d imagined it stayed the same. Sad. Sagging. Slightly decrepit. He’d imagined his mother stayed the same, too. They remained static in his mind, frozen in time and place until he would return to unpause them. But that isn’t the case at all. His mother has lived over 1800 days since she last saw him. This house has continued standing for over 2500 days since he moved out. They’ve changed beyond recognition, and as he drags his suitcase up the front walk, he’s not sure he wants to know what lies behind the red front door."After his mom's health scare, Ricky heads to Chicago for Thanksgiving on a quest to make amends. It's funny how much things change in five years.
Relationships: Big Red & Ricky Bowen (HSM: The Series), Ricky Bowen/Nini Salazar-Roberts
Series: Please Leave All Drama On The Stage [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673623
Comments: 46
Kudos: 65





	1. Nothing Is As It Has Been

**Author's Note:**

> It's here! It's finally here! I'm pleased to present the next installment of the "Please Leave All Drama On The Stage" Universe! As I said previously, "Do You Hear The People Sing" was meant to be the end of this AU, but I've fallen too in love with it not to continue a bit longer. This will be a minific, similar in length to "Summer Girls," except it's Ricky-centric (as opposed to Nini, Gina, and Ashlyn-centric). Expect lots of broody Ricky, awkward family time, sweet Rini moments, and number one best friend Big Red. Chapter titles come from the song "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart, which I highly recommend listening to as it definitely sets the tone.
> 
> I'm so thrilled to share this with you, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the first chapter as we embark on this journey together!

The alarm clock goes off at 8:00 sharp, and he reaches for the snooze button instinctively. Nini’s hand shoots out and seizes his wrist gently, arresting his progress. He cracks one eye open and takes in the sight of her: impish smirk, dark hair falling in waves around her face, illuminated by the warm glow of the morning sunlight that filters in through the cracks in the blinds. Ricky Bowen is not a morning person. When he was eleven, his parents decided he was old enough to set his own bedtime, and he seldom went to bed before midnight after that. In college, he pulled all-nighters at least once a week, ostensibly to study but more often to skateboard with Big Red or wander aimlessly around campus until exhaustion overcame him and he could fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

Even now, left to his own devices (without Nini dragging him off to bed with her at eleven), he would prefer to stay up. And while he’s never been a morning person, he’s even less of one today. The angry red numbers on the clock read out 8:02. Which means he has exactly four hours and twenty-eight minutes before he boards his flight and leaves Nini behind for four days. 

“Five more minutes,” he groans, turning away from Nini. 

“Not today,” she says, her voice soft and teasing as she reaches over and rolls him back towards her. She hovers above him, her hair brushing ticklishly against his cheeks. “You’ve got a flight to catch.” 

“It can wait.” 

“I don’t think that’s how flights work.” 

“Then I’ll miss it.” 

“And leave Big Red to fly to Chicago all on his own?” 

He tries to imagine his best friend navigating an airport terminal on his own and knows that Nini is right. She’s usually right. And besides, Big Red had readily agreed to accompany him on this trip. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him stranded. 

“Fine,” Ricky grumbles, stretching. Nini moves away and he immediately misses her warmth and the sensation of the mattress dipping ever-so-slightly around him where her hands rested. 

“You know, it’s probably not too late for me to get a flight out,” she says as he sits up in bed and blinks the bleariness from his vision. 

“But you already told your moms you’d be with them,” he points out. 

It’s a weak argument, and she rolls her eyes as if to emphasize the fact. “I can tell them that plans changed. They’ll understand.”

The idea is tempting. It’s been tempting since she offered to go with him back in October, when he first floated the idea of visiting his mom for Thanksgiving. But he can’t make her come with him, even though she’s the one offering. He can’t take Nini away from her moms on a holiday. Not when she should be with them, laughing and drinking wine and making lumpia from her grandmother’s recipe. Not when he has no idea how this reunion will go. 

“It’s okay,” he says finally. “You should be with your parents. Besides, I’ve got Big Red.” 

It was Nini’s idea to invite Big Red along. He suspects it’s because she didn’t want him to be alone on Thanksgiving. Or perhaps it’s because she knows how he gets when his mom is involved. Her health scare was the primary reason why he decided to fly out to Chicago to see her. Time is a finite resource, after all. But even with this new perspective, there’s no telling what his mother will be like when he lands. He’s not even sure what  _ he  _ will be like when he lands. Will he lay eyes on the woman who gave birth to him and realize that the resentment he spent years bottling up has dissipated like steam in the air? Or will he see her and feel that familiar anger boil up from the pit of his stomach? 

Either way, Big Red has met his mother. He was there throughout college, when they had some of their worst fights over the telephone from a thousand miles apart. He knows what he’s getting into, and Ricky won’t feel the need to sugarcoat things for the sake of his best friend. Not like if Nini was there. Nini has a great relationship with her moms, and in many ways her moms have become like his moms, too. She’s never met his mother in-person, and he’s painfully aware of the fact that no matter how empathetic his girlfriend is, she will never totally understand. 

Besides, Big Red had practically begged to accompany him. Not that Ricky blames him. He’s been to Redonovich family Thanksgivings. He knows that Red’s parents start the feast at first light and seldom make it past the Macy’s parade before falling into a deep, content, carb-induced sleep. 

Nini slips out of bed and pads barefoot to the door. “I’m going to get breakfast ready,” she says, offering him a soft smile as she pulls the bedroom door open. “Why don’t you work on packing?” 

In true Ricky Bowen fashion, he delayed packing until the last possible minute, partly because some small part of his brain believed he would cancel the trip on the day-of, and partly because he hates packing. He’s always hated packing. When his parents took him to Disney World when he was six, he spent the entire night before their flight agonizing over whether to bring his stuffed Tigger or his teddy bear. He wanted to take both, but his mother insisted there wasn’t enough room in the luggage. He couldn’t explain to her why it was so urgent - why he was willing to sacrifice extra underwear and his shoes for the sake of two stuffed animals. But something about leaving home felt permanent. What if they got stuck in Florida? What if they could never return home? He  _ needed  _ Tigger  _ and  _ his teddy bear. But in the end, his mother had forced him to choose. He chose Tigger, but for the entire trip, he couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that his teddy bear was sitting in his bedroom, dejected and missing him and fearing he would never come back.

He puts his toothbrush in its little blue traveling case, seals travel-size bottles of shampoo and shower gel into a Ziploc bag, and tries to calculate how many pairs of socks and underwear he’ll need for a four day trip. He plucks long-sleeve t-shirts and sweatpants from his closet and selects a burgundy sweater - reminiscent of the outfits his mother used to dress him in when they still celebrated Thanksgiving at his grandparents’ - from his dresser. 

Nini sweeps into the room with a mug of coffee and presses it into his hands. “All packed?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

“About time,” she smirks, quirking a brow.

“Hey, at least I did it!” he defends, taking a sip. 

“You’re right,” she says. Her smile fades, and she regards him with the intense look that she always does when she wants him to know how serious she is. Her brown eyes seem to grow deeper, more reflective. He can see himself in her irises. She squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. He never knows what to do when she looks at him like this. It’s like he can hear her thoughts, telling him to listen and believe her despite every instinct to deflect, shove his hands in his pockets, blush, and turn away. He drops his gaze to the black depths of his coffee for a moment, then brings his eyes back up to meet hers. “I’m proud of you, Ricky. I really am.”

He gets the feeling that she isn’t talking about packing. 

* * *

Big Red arrives just after nine. The familiar chug of his old Volkswagen rattling through the parking lot cues Ricky to open the front door. He watches as his best friend emerges from the car and pries a battered hard-shell suitcase from the backseat, stumbling a little as he sets it on the ground and wheels it towards him. 

“Dude!” Ricky exclaims.

“Dude!” Red greets back, practically tackling him in a hug. 

Ricky sizes his best friend up, taking in his chinos and baggy flannel, his expression that is amiable as ever. It’s only been a few weeks since he officially changed his address and they could no longer call each other roommates, but it feels longer. Perhaps it has been, given how often Ricky stayed at Nini’s before his name was ever included on the deed. He’d expected it to cause a rift between them. He’d expected them to grow apart once they stopped sharing an apartment.

But nothing’s changed. Big Red is still just as cheerful, just as down-for-anything as ever. They still FaceTime each other once a week to talk about stupid TV shows. They still send each other compilations of skateboarders falling off their boards mid-trick. Ricky’s still the first person Red calls if he needs an extra hand at the skateshop. And Big Red is still the first person Ricky calls when he needs a friendly face. Or a plus-one to the most awkward Thanksgiving in all of history.

“Please tell me you brought a coat,” he says once his best friend is inside. He tries to ignore how naggy he sounds. 

“No, why?” Big Red questions. 

“Trust me, dude, if you think it gets cold in Salt Lake City, Chicago’s something else. They don’t call it the Windy City for nothing.” 

“Come  _ on _ , Ricky. Have you learned nothing? You see this red hair? I’m a descendent of  _ Vikings _ .” 

Ricky frowns. “Aren’t your ancestors from Ukraine?” 

Red shrugs good-naturedly. “Vikings. Ukrainians. The point is, I’m immune to the cold. It’s in my DNA.” 

Ricky smirks fondly. This, too, hasn’t changed. Red stubbornly refused to wear a jacket in college, and he stubbornly refuses to wear one now. And despite the dubious claim that his ancestry somehow makes him cold-resistant, Ricky can’t deny that his best friend has somehow remained steadfast against the frigid Utah winters, even with his rail-thin frame. 

* * *

By 9:30, they’ve tossed their suitcases into the back of Nini’s Ford Focus and are on their way to the airport. Ricky sits in the passenger seat, drumming his fingers absent-mindedly against the center console to the rhythm of the Lorde song playing on the radio. 

“So, I know you don’t actually, like,  _ live  _ in Chicago,” Big Red pipes from the back seat, “but how close are you to the sights?”

“The sights?” Ricky repeats.

“Yeah. You know? Like Sears Tower? The Bean?” 

He nods slowly. He’s always known, of course, that Chicago gets its fair share of tourists, drawn by Lollapalooza and the former tallest building in the world and the promise of deep dish pizza that somehow always manages to be disappointing. But he’s never really considered the city a worthwhile place to spend time. It was just the sprawling, overbuilt neighborhood next to his: a backdrop for the miserable summers he spent in a house he never asked to move to. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Fifteen minutes, maybe? Twenty?” 

“Sweet,” Big Red sits back. “I’ve always wanted to see The Bean. And try a Chicago-style hot dog. Do you think we’ll have time to do all that?” 

Ricky can’t help but laugh despite himself. “We can do anything you want,” he promises. 

* * *

Nini refuses to leave them in the drop-off lane, despite Ricky’s protests that it doesn’t make sense to pay for parking. He knows he’s going to lose the argument before he even opens his mouth. He’d been similarly adamant about seeing Nini off when she went to LA. So he doesn’t put up a fight when she parks the car in the parking garage and helps them unload their bags. He doesn’t put up a fight when the three of them walk through the sliding doors of the airport terminal together. In fact, he’s relieved. 

The terminal is crowded with holiday travelers, bundled up in peacoats and dragging suitcases behind them as they rush from the check-in desk to the TSA line to their gates. A mother consoles a crying toddler. A young man kisses his partner goodbye before sending him off. A sunburnt older couple in matching Hawaiian shirts mills about by the entrance, clearly just-returned from some tropical vacation and clearly in for a rude awakening when they step outside. 

They print their boarding passes and meander towards the ever-growing line at security. Ricky hesitates as they draw closer, slowing his steps to delay the inevitable. Nini won’t be able to join him past this point. Once he enters the line, it’ll be him and Big Red and a three hour flight, and four long days before he can see her again in-person. He comes to a stop just before the entrance to the line, lets his eyes scan over the crowd that is forming, and then turns his gaze back to Nini. She tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear and draws her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“I, uh, guess this is it,” he says, forcing nonchalance into his tone as he rocks slightly on his heels. His fingers drum against the side of his leg to the rhythm of the song stuck in his head. 

Nini nods and purses her lips. “I guess so.” 

“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” he asks. 

She smiles wanly. “Ricky, I lived by myself for two years before you moved in. I think I can manage for four days.” 

“Right,” he answers. He averts his eyes and scans the departures screen, picking out his flight on the table. UNITED AIRLINES 1108. NONSTOP SERVICE TO CHICAGO.  _ ON TIME _ . He stares at the letters until they blur into a single, indefinite line and then disappear as the screen changes. 

“Ricky?” Nini calls his attention back to her. She leans closer to him, bringing her eyes up to meet his. “I mean it,” she says. “I’ll be okay.” 

“No, I know,” he sighs. “I know you will. It’s just…” His voice trails off and he stares down at the floor, studying the patterns in the off-white tile. 

“It’s just what?” she asks gently. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. He isn’t sure what to tell her. It’s  _ just  _ a lot of things. It’s  _ just  _ that they’ll be apart for four days, on Thanksgiving no less. It’s  _ just  _ that he hasn’t seen his mother in-person in five years, and he hasn’t been back to that house in seven. It’s  _ just  _ that he has no idea what to expect when he gets off that plane. 

“It’s okay to be anxious,” Nini says, reaching for his hands to stop his fingers from drumming against his side. 

He grins at her sheepishly. “Who’s anxious?”

Nini fixes him with a look but says nothing. He can’t help but feel a little stupid. And a little guilty. What kind of person gets anxious over seeing their own mother? 

“I should…” he jerks his head in the direction of the line. 

“Right,” Nini nods ruefully.

“Don’t worry about me, okay? Have a good time with your moms. Enjoy the holiday. And we can celebrate our own Thanksgiving when I get back. We’ve got a lot to be thankful for this year.”

Nini forces a smile, and he dips his head to catch her lips in a lingering kiss. He knows that despite his pleas and her promises, she will worry about him. Just as he will worry about her. It’s part of the deal, and as much as it pains him, he’s grateful, too. Nini Salazar-Roberts is the first person to make him regret leaving home. She’s the first person who’s given him a reason to look forward to returning. 

He pulls away and his eyes flutter open. Nini looks up at him, her fond smile laced with a little remorse. He has the fleeting thought that he should reconsider and stay here with her. But it’s impractical and unrealistic. “One more,” he says, leaning down to capture her lips once again. When he pulls back, the soft feeling of her lips lingers on his and he musters his best reassuring smile for her. 

“Call me when you land,” she instructs. 

“I will,” he promises. “And we’ll FaceTime?” 

“Every night,” she agrees. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

He starts for the line while Big Red sidles up to Nini to say his goodbyes. 

“Thanks for going with him,” Nini murmurs. 

Big Red smiles. “Please, he’s doing  _ me  _ a favor. I love my parents, but watching them fall asleep to the Thanksgiving parade is sort of depressing. You could’ve come with us, too, you know. I think he secretly wishes you would.” 

“I know,” she nods, her gaze straying toward Ricky’s back as he stands before the TSA agent and hands over his boarding pass. “But you know Ricky. If I went, he would just worry about me the whole time. He needs this,” she says. “He needs to figure out his feelings, and he needs to learn how to forgive himself for things that were never his fault.” 

Big Red nods, a twinkle in his eye. “Yeah, Ricky’s not good at either of those things. But don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him.” 

Nini smiles and envelops the redhead in a tight hug, and it strikes her that somewhere in the process of combining her life with Ricky’s, she also gained another best friend. If she can’t be by her boyfriend’s side for this, there’s no one else she would trust to take care of him. “You’re the best.”

“Hey, are you still…?” the redhead asks, pulling back. 

She nods, smiling secretively. “Yup.”

He brightens and gives a barely-perceptible nod as he starts toward the line. “Good.”

* * *

By the time they clear security, put their shoes back on, and put their bags back in order, they scarcely have time to make it to the gate. 

“Race you?” Big Red asks with a playful smirk once they’ve resituated themselves. 

“You’re on!” 

Ricky laughs as they tear down the wide walkway towards the gate like schoolkids left unsupervised in the hall. They narrowly dodge indignant travelers, blowing past newsstands and mediocre cafes and souvenir shops selling postcards with oversaturated images of the Salt Flats. By the time they reach the gate, they’re both winded and panting from exertion and the uncontrollable urge to laugh. 

“I won,” Ricky declares, doubling over to catch his breath. 

“No fair,” Big Red protests good-naturedly. “My suitcase weighs like twenty pounds more than yours.” 

“Not my fault,” Ricky taunts. 

“Not mine either! Do you know how much my sleep apnea machine weighs? Not to mention the white noise maker, the nebulizer…” 

“Dude, you might have to sleep in the basement,” Ricky jokes. “I don’t think my old bedroom has enough room for all that.” 

“That’s fine,” Red shrugs gamely. “With the white noise machine, I can fall asleep to the sounds of a tropical rainforest anywhere.” 

The waiting area is crowded, and every seat is already taken. The desk attendant smiles warmly and announces boarding for passengers with disabilities and passengers with first class tickets. The two best friends take up positions against the large, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the tarmac. Ricky watches as his fellow passengers disappear down the narrow jetway to board the narrow jet that waits, white and gleaming, to whisk him away from home. He tries to shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his stomach. 

* * *

The aisle is narrow and the seats are cramped. They stow their luggage in the overhead compartment and take their seats just behind the wings. Big Red requests the aisle seat. 

“I get airsick. Did I forget to mention that?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Ricky replies. 

“Oh. Well I get airsick,” he repeats. “Might need easy access to the bathroom.” 

Ricky doesn’t complain. He prefers the window seat anyway. He likes to track their progress, even if he doesn’t recognize any of the landscape unfolding beneath them. He’s never been afraid to fly. In fact, the idea is exhilarating. There’s a unique thrill to hurtling through the air at hundreds of miles an hour, higher than any human being was ever meant to go and moving faster than any human being has a right to. From the first time he flew on a plane at six years old, he loved the sensation. Everything looks smaller from the air, and individual people and cars and buildings become indistinguishable. His problems are relegated to the ground. They can’t catch up with him when he’s five miles in the sky.

It’s different this time, though. They take off without incident, and Big Red runs for the bathroom the second the seatbelt light goes out. Ricky tries to distract himself by tracing the roadways that unfurl like ribbons far below. Eventually, the clouds obscure them from view and he’s left drifting through an endless sea of fluffy whiteness that stretches to the horizon. Every time he’s flown, it’s been the promise that wherever he lands will be better than wherever he started. Disney World. The Philippines. Even the flight that carried him and his mother to Chicago for the first time, where he believed the two of them would leave behind the ugly fighting that marred his parents’ relationship and start fresh - just the two of them. This is the first time he worries that his destination will be far worse than his point of origin, and the thought unsettles him deeply. 

He puts in his earbuds and sets his music on shuffle, letting Elliott Smith and Alec Benjamin and Bruno Mars distract him from the thoughts of what his mother will look and sound like when she greets him. He lets their voices take his mind off what the house will feel like when he sets foot in it once more, breaking the promise he made to himself when he moved out - that he would never return to that oppressive atmosphere. 

* * *

The flight is over too quickly. It feels like they just took off when the pilot’s voice comes over the cabin intercom, enthusiastic and cheerful, announcing their final descent into O’Hare International Airport. Ricky reaches over and taps Big Red, who startles awake. 

“We’re about to land,” he informs him mildly, glancing out the window at the buildings that rush up to greet them. The wheels touch the tarmac with a jolt, and he sees the flaps on the wings rise to slow them down, the tires squealing their protest as they go from two-hundred miles-per-hour to thirty and taxi towards their gate. The seatbelt light goes out and the flight attendant announces that their devices can be switched off airplane mode. 

Ricky digs in his pocket for his phone. It vibrates with an incoming text from his mother, but he ignores it in favor of calling Nini. “Hello?” Her voice pours from the speaker, warm and familiar, and for a moment it feels like he can’t speak. 

“Hey,” he clears his throat. “We, uh. We just landed.” 

She giggles. “I know. I was checking your flight status.”

“Oh.”

“I’m glad you called, though. Are you still on the plane?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “We’re gonna get off soon and my mom’s supposed to meet us at the arrivals terminal.” 

“Great!” Nini says, and even he can tell that she’s forcing the optimism in her tone a bit too much. “Give her a hug for me.” 

He’s not even sure he’ll give her a hug for himself, but he agrees anyway. “Looks like we’re getting off the plane,” he says, watching as the passengers in the seats ahead of him rise to their feet. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Okay,” Nini says, then adds, “I think I, kinda, you know…” 

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “I love you, too, Neens.” 

He finally checks the text from his mom as he and Big Red slowly trundle their way up the aisle toward the exit. 

_ Hi sweetie! I’m waiting at the airport. Let me know when you’re here.  _

He hesitates before replying, but finally taps out a response.  _ Just landed. See you soon. _

The thought strikes him just as they emerge from the jetway, as he scans the waiting area for any sign of his mother. Did she come alone? Surely she wouldn’t bring Todd with her, right? 

“Do you see your mom anywhere?” Big Red murmurs.

Ricky shakes his head, searching each face: an old woman holding a bouquet, a chauffeur with a sign for “Rob and Susan,” a bald-headed man juggling two little girls while trying to corral a third. None of them are his mother. He worries that he might not recognize her. Surely she can’t have changed too much since he saw her last. But what if she has? What if she dyed her hair or cut it short? What if she’s aged to the point of being unrecognizable? 

But then his gaze settles on her, standing solitary in the middle of the arrivals hall in an uncinched beige trench coat, a cream-colored sweater peeking out from behind it. He spots the exact moment she sees him, her eyes lighting up and her features relaxing into a smile as she waves at the two of them with both arms. He’s relieved that Todd is nowhere in sight.

“Ricky!” Lynne calls, her voice carrying across the crowded terminal. “Sweetie! Over here!”

“Found her,” Big Red says. 

“Yup,” Ricky purses his lips. 

“You ready?” 

“Nope. But let’s go.” He starts toward his mother, wheeling his suitcase noisily behind him as they approach. The wheels clatter over every dip in the grout line in a grating cacophony that he’s certain will pull every set of eyes in the room toward him.

His mother steps forward eagerly, opening her arms for a hug. He allows himself to be folded into her embrace, stiffening for a moment before returning it and telling himself that it’s for Nini, though he forgets halfway through and hugs her tighter. She still smells the same: like sweet pea perfume and a faint hint of fabric softener. She squeezes him tighter. “Welcome home, sweetheart,” she says softly, her voice reedy - like it could break at any moment. He tries to ignore the queasy feeling the statement gives him as he finally lets go, a tight smile pulling at his lips. She turns her attention to Big Red, wrapping him up in an eager hug that he returns awkwardly. 

Ricky sizes his mother up. She doesn’t look quite the way he remembered. She’s a little more gaunt, her complexion a little more ashen, her face a little more pinched. Her hair is grayer at the roots, cut into a shoulder-length bob. His mother was always on the thinner side, but she looks almost emaciated now. The sweater hangs off her body, and the trench coat is the only thing that gives her structure. Her crows’ feet are deeper, her eyes more sunken, and when she smiles, her face creases noticeably. He supposes that the cancer scare caused a lot of stress, but it pains him that he has no way of knowing for sure if this is a recent change or one that’s taken place gradually over the course of the five years. 

“Are you boys ready to go?” she asks. “I’m so excited to show you what we’ve done with the place, Ricky. I think you’ll love it!” 

Ricky nods dumbly and trails behind his mother as she leads the way through the terminal, her heeled boots clicking briskly along the tile and her coat fanning out behind her. The automatic doors slide back, revealing a typically overcast day. The brisk chill hits him immediately, blasting his face and forcing him to draw his coat tighter around him. He’d forgotten just how cold the Lake Michigan breeze could be. Beside him, Big Red barely flinches but his nose reddens rapidly with the temperature. 

“You’re lucky,” Lynne calls over her shoulder as they dash across the crosswalk. “It snowed for the first time this season last week, but the weather looks good for Thanksgiving.” 

So this is what they’re reduced to. Conversations about the weather. Ricky makes a noncommittal grunt as he follows his mother down an aisle of parked cars. He scans the row for the familiar, light blue Altima, but Lynne stops short in front of a silver Lexus sedan instead. She opens the trunk for them and Ricky hauls his suitcase up and over, letting it tumble onto the carpet inside. His mother’s law practice must be doing much better these days, he concludes as he climbs into the passenger seat. 

Lynne starts the car and clicks a button. Ricky feels the seat start to warm beneath him as she backs out of the space, checking over her shoulder despite the backup camera in the dashboard. “How was your flight?” she asks after paying for parking and merging out into the throng of traffic clogging the airport off-ramp. 

“It was fine,” Ricky says, fixing his gaze out the window. 

“That’s good,” his mom replies. 

The silence stretches on. Big Red shifts in the backseat, then finally pipes up, “Thanks for coming to get us, Mrs. Bowen. We could’ve Ubered.” 

“Not a problem at all,” Lynne answers, a bit too quickly. “There’s no way I’m making my boys Uber from the airport.” 

Ricky winces. His mother was never the “my boys” type when it came to him and his friends, and the phrase feels wrong coming from her lips. 

“You look well,” Lynne says, taking her eyes off the road momentarily to glance at her son, as well. He wonders what she sees when she looks at him. He doesn’t think he’s changed much since college. He didn’t gain weight or change his hairstyle. He’s still Ricky Bowen: lanky, curly-haired and dark-eyed, still wearing the same shoes he did in school. 

When he doesn’t answer, she looks in the rearview mirror. “You both do. Red, I don’t think I’ve seen you since, what? Graduation, was it?” 

Big Red forces a laugh. “Oh wow! Has it really been that long?” 

Ricky is grateful when his mother doesn’t ask the same question of him. He’s ashamed of the answer. The last time his mom saw Big Red was also the last time she saw him in-person.

“So, uh, is Todd home?” Ricky asks after another minute of unbearable quiet. He holds his breath. There is a moment’s pause that seems to stretch for eternity.

“Yes,” his mother replies carefully. “He took off this week when he found out you were joining us. He’s very excited to see you, Ricky. He misses you.” 

Ricky does his best to hide the involuntary flinch that comes at the assertion. He isn’t sure why it’s his go-to response whenever Todd comes up. The man is an interloper, sure, and he likely played a part in his parents’ separation. But Todd was never anything but kind to him, sometimes in a cringe-worthy, tryhard way. Nonetheless, the thought of the man waiting at home, eager for him to arrive, unsettles him. He was just getting used to the idea of seeing his mom. He hadn’t even considered Todd. 

“The house is gonna look really different since the last time you visited,” Lynne says as they head down the Expressway. The signs pass by in a blur of vaguely familiar street names. 1st Ave. Harlem Ave. Des Plaines Ave. “We completely changed the kitchen,” she continues. “You remember how dark it used to be in there?” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Ricky mumbles as buildings and billboards streak by. He can’t be sure which ones remain from the last time he was in Chicago, and which ones just look like they’ve been there forever. 

“We repainted and added a few windows. You’re gonna love it.” 

As they enter Oak Park, Ricky leans forward in his seat, scanning the familiar surroundings with a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness. They head down Washington Boulevard, where Ricky used to ride his skateboard over the uneven sidewalk. The concrete has been redone, and the bumps and jagged corners are gone. The streets have been patched. The low-rise apartments at the corner of Wesley have been refinished in beige bricks. The trees, some still clinging to the last of their leaves, seem taller and better-kept. He wonders if these streets always looked this way, or if the neighborhood has, like the house, undergone some major improvement in his absence. 

He doesn’t recognize the house when his mother pulls the car up to the curb. The blue clapboard siding that his mother loathed from the minute they moved in has vanished, replaced by white siding instead. The faded green shutters have been swapped for elegant black ones that don’t sag or hang crookedly. The front door is a vibrant shade of red, adorned with an autumn wreath. Yellow leaves swirl around the lawn as a gust of wind picks up. 

“Welcome home!” Lynne says elatedly, stepping out of the car.  Big Red leans over from the back seat. “It doesn’t look like you described it,” he murmurs.

“It doesn’t look like I remembered it,” Ricky replies, fumbling for the door handle. 

It’s been seven years since he’s seen this neighborhood, this street, this house. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he’d imagined it stayed the same. Sad. Sagging. Slightly decrepit. He’d imagined his mother stayed the same, too. They remained static in his mind, frozen in time and place until he would return to unpause them. But that isn’t the case at all. His mother has lived over 1800 days since she last saw him. This house has continued standing for over 2500 days since he moved out. They’ve changed beyond recognition, and as he drags his suitcase up the front walk, he’s not sure he wants to know what lies behind the red front door.


	2. The Way Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! This took much longer than I expected to write. A lot went on over the course of the week. Long story short, they said we have to start the school year in-person, which obviously is terrifying because my classroom has no ventilation whatsoever. Then, a couple days later, they reversed course and decided to start online. So I've got a tone of lesson plan adjusting to do in a short amount of time. I'm just glad to be teaching online. 
> 
> To be honest I was so burnt out that I didn't even have the energy to write for a while. But I'm back and getting the creative juices flowing! Thanks so much for the warm reception to the first chapter. This story will definitely be a lot more introspective and focused on Ricky, and I'm glad to see that so far, you're enjoying it!

He isn’t sure what to expect behind the front door. He spent weeks imagining this moment: what his mother would look like, how the street he lived on would change, how it would feel to stand on this ground and breathe this air. So far, none of it is like he imagined. 

The house was always claustrophobic. It was his mother’s chief complaint among the many she raised whenever the fridge conked out or a pipe burst or the gutters started sagging. She would mutter about how the place was a money pit, how it was too old and too poorly cared-for to be salvageable. She would complain about the lack of light, the narrowness of the rooms, how every part of the interior felt completely cut off from the rest. Each time, Ricky would think bitterly of how this was  _ her  _ choice. She had chosen this place knowing full well she wouldn’t have a husband who was also a contractor to fix everything that was wrong with it, and she’d brought him along under the false impression that they would be starting over together - just the two of them. And then she brought Todd into the picture practically the next day. His mother has never been satisfied with anything. The house was never an exception. On his best days, he would bite his tongue to keep from pointing out that she was the architect of her own misery. On his worst, he would spit venom at her. He would tell her she chose this life. She  _ deserved  _ this life. And she’d ruined his by making him believe things would be different. 

He stands in front of the red front door and draws in a deep breath. Part of him imagined that the house would continue to fall into disrepair after he left, collapsing around his mother in a pile of rotted wood and peeling wallpaper and dust. Part of him was satisfied with that image: a pit of ashes where Lynne Bowen carved out a little space for herself, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that she’d made a mistake in divorcing her first husband and dragging her son halfway across the country for a man who offered her nothing beyond a slightly higher income and the novelty of not being named Mike Bowen. 

“You okay?” Big Red asks, dragging his suitcase up the front steps with a series of  _ thumps  _ that shakes the ground beneath them. 

“Yeah,” Ricky says, shaking himself out of his own thoughts. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Big Red nods haltingly and opens his mouth to say more, but he closes it again as Lynne sweeps up behind them and places a hand on each of their shoulders. “Alright, boys, welcome home!” she says brightly. “Ricky, I’ll take your bag.” 

“N-no, it’s okay,” he says, moving the bag out of her reach reflexively. For a moment, she looks wounded and he feels a bit of indignity flare up from the pit of his stomach. It fizzles out before it has a chance to take hold. He’s left with the vague memory of anger and the brief, self-righteous thought that his mother’s hurt feelings are hardly justified. 

Her features morph into a tight smile as she inserts the key into the lock, twists, and pushes the door open, gesturing for them to enter. Ricky steps tentatively over the threshold, as if the floor might be booby-trapped, and Big Red falls into step behind him.

The smell is wrong. Not that he ever really considered the way his mother’s house smelled. In fact, the house was always defined by its curious absence of any scent. Or perhaps it always had one and he’d just gone blind to it over years of living there. In any case, he doesn’t remember it ever smelling like this: lemon Pledge and a lingering odor of garlic and the sickly sweet smell of a cinnamon candle burning on the side table in the foyer.

The foyer is different, too. They knocked out an interior wall - or rather, they paid someone to knock out an interior wall - and light now streams in from the living room bay window. The faded, floral wallpaper has been replaced by soft, grayish-purple paint, and the gaudy, antique furniture Todd brought when he moved in has been swapped for an elegant, dark wood table. It looks almost nice. In a generic, HGTV sort of way. 

“What do you think?” Lynne asks, shutting the door against the cold and shedding her coat. 

“It’s...different,” Ricky says carefully, rotating slowly. It seems like there’s a change wherever his eyes land. New curtains. A new rug. A  _ Live, Laugh, Love  _ sign hanging beside the door. Newly-polished floors. Was the banister always white? 

“Is that who I think it is?” A voice cries from the direction of the kitchen. Ricky has just enough time to release a measured breath through his nostrils before Todd appears, decked out in an apron and sporting a grin so wide it’s almost disconcerting. “There he is! Tricky Ricky!” He surges forward and envelops Ricky in a stiff hug. He freezes for a moment before begrudgingly returning the embrace, wrapping one arm around his mother’s husband and giving him two light pats before wriggling free. 

“Ah, it’s so good to see you, bud!” Todd declares. The grin hasn’t left his face. As much as everything else has changed, Todd hasn’t. Or if there are any changes, Ricky can’t tell. Maybe his hair is a little grayer, and a little thinner. Maybe he’s wearing a new shirt. Todd’s gaze falls to Big Red. “And you must be Big Red! I’m Ricky’s step-” 

“This is Todd,” Ricky cuts in, trying to force the sarcastic pleasantness from his tone. “My mom’s husband.” 

Red smiles tightly and shakes Todd’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

“I’ve heard so much about you!” Todd says without missing a beat, continuing to shake the younger man’s hand for much longer than is necessary or acceptable. By the time he lets go, Big Red has to wipe the sweat off on his pant leg. Ricky’s reasonably sure Todd is lying. He’s certainly never mentioned anything about his best friend to the man, and his mother doesn’t know much more than Big Red’s nickname. It’s a mindless pleasantry. A sales tactic. Todd’s full of those. 

“I’ve heard so much about you, too,” Big Red replies, smile still frozen on his face. That much is true. Ricky’s told Big Red  _ plenty  _ about his mother’s husband. He’s an interloper. He tries too hard. He calls him  _ bud _ like a little league coach. He carried on an affair with his mother for a year before the divorce was finalized. What more is there to know? 

They stand in the foyer, all four of them regarding each other without speaking. Ricky rocks back and forth on his heels, his gaze falling to his feet. Nini would probably chide him for wearing shoes inside the house. Big Red toys with the handle of his suitcase, retracting it and then pulling it back up. The clicking sound fills the dead air. Lynne lets out a nervous, vaguely fond giggle. 

Todd clears his throat. “Oh, where are my manners? Let me take your coats, please!” 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Big Red says, drawing his flannel self-consciously around himself. “I didn’t bring one.” 

“I can see that!” Todd says. His voice is just a little too loud and the accompanying chuckle is just a little too forced. He holds his hand out expectantly for Ricky’s jacket. 

“I’m good,” he says, then turns to Big Red. “Why don’t we go put our stuff down?”

Big Red’s breath of relief is audible. “Good idea.” 

“Yes! Good idea,” Lynne says, placing her hand on Ricky’s shoulder and giving him a fond squeeze that he has to resist the urge to shrug off. “Ricky, your room is all set up for the two of you. I put fresh towels out this morning. Let me know what else you boys need.” 

_ A minute _ , Ricky thinks.  _ I need a minute. _

They clatter up the stairs, dragging their suitcases behind them. Ricky’s bedroom door is shut, and he pauses outside it for a moment, examining it. It’s still the same, dingy off-white and he can see the scars in the paint where he once taped up signs and posters. He takes a deep breath as he closes his hand around the brass doorknob. The whole house is different. What has his mother done with his old room?

She’d always talked about setting it up as a guest room once he moved out, so that the few visitors they received didn’t have to sleep on a futon in the office. Or perhaps they’ve made it into a second work space, so that she and Todd don’t have to share. Maybe it’s a hobby room, full of scrapbooking materials and the sewing machine that his mother swore she’d get around to using one day. He braces himself as he pushes the door open. The sight takes his breath away.

“It’s exactly the same,” he breathes, scarcely aware that he’s said anything out loud until Big Red ducks his head under his arm and pokes his head into the room. 

“What’s the same?” 

“Everything,” Ricky says, astonished. 

The room is still the same shade of light blue that he chose when he was twelve. The walls are still lined with the same posters: Arctic Monkeys and Arcade Fire and Pro Skater 4. The twin-sized captain’s bed is still there, and the desk is the same as it was when he left, complete with the exact same lamp and a few scattered papers that came in his college admissions packet. It’s as if teenaged Ricky could walk in the door at any moment, flop moodily onto the bed, and start blasting his music. He can see himself sitting in that chair, swiveling it back and forth aimlessly, half-heartedly doing his homework. He can see himself reclined on the bed, slumped against the wall with an acoustic guitar in his lap. It’s surreal. Everything - and everyone - in this house has changed, but this room has stayed frozen in time. 

“Dude, your room is awesome!” Big Red says with the enthusiasm of a middle schooler at his first sleepover. He steps under Ricky’s arm and darts inside, his gaze flicking over the walls. “I’ve met him!” he says with a grin, gesturing to the Tony Hawk poster above the bed. Ricky can’t help but smile at his best friend, and it occurs to him that Red may be the first friend to ever see his room here. 

Big Red flops onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the firm springs. “I mean, maybe I’m not the best judge considering I slept on a pullout in the basement for basically all my life, but seriously. This is awesome.” 

“Thanks,” Ricky murmurs, biting back a proud grin as he enters, dragging his suitcase behind him. He walks slowly around the perimeter, running his hand over the desk, then the bookshelf littered with books he never read and souvenirs from long-forgotten vacations. Each time, he expects his fingers to come away covered in dust, but each time, they come away clean instead. His mother dusted before he arrived. Carefully, too. There isn’t a speck of dust anywhere in sight. He isn’t sure if that’s a usual occurrence, or if she put in special effort for his arrival. Somehow, he can’t picture her going into this room - a permanent reminder of the son who left home as a teenager and didn’t return until now - and carefully picking up each item he left behind to clean under and around it. He can’t picture her sifting through his leftovers - the things he didn’t deem valuable enough to take with him to college, to Manila, to Salt Lake City - and taking the time to polish each one. But then again, everything else about this trip so far has surprised him. 

He opens his closet door and is shocked to find that his mother never emptied out his old stuff. A basketball sits half-deflated in the corner beside two old penny boards with worn-out, pock-marked wheels. The shelves are empty save for a few pairs of too-large sweatpants that he never came back to retrieve. 

He finally eases himself onto the bed beside his best friend, bunching the comforter fabric between his fingers. They’re the same sheets, too: navy and gray stripes, faded and soft from countless washes. The lingering scent of fabric softener tells him they were cleaned recently. 

It’s too much. It’s like a museum dedicated to what were arguably the worst years of his life, and yet he can’t shake the feeling of nostalgia that these long-forgotten trinkets dredge up. They were familiar, everyday sights once, and somehow he’d forgotten about every single one of them until they were in front of him again. “We should unpack,” he says, turning to Big Red. “You can throw your stuff in the closet. Or in the drawers under the bed. I think there’s an air mattress around here somewhere…”

“Ricky,” Big Red’s voice is even, compelling him to look at him. A strange expression passes over his face. “I know you said you’re alright, but, like, are you?”

“Yeah,” Ricky deflects, acutely aware that he doesn’t sound at all convincing. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

Red shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe because it’s your first time back in almost a decade? It used to trip me out everytime I came back home after a semester ended. Things would just be a little... _ off _ , you know? Like my parents would hang up a new painting or throw out the old couch cushions, or they would be trying some new diet trend and it felt, like, wrong somehow. Like I ended up in some weird parallel universe where everything was the same except for that one little thing… It made me feel weird to know that life went on and that they were making all these decisions without including me. Even though they were just little things that didn’t really matter, it still affected me. And that was after being gone for only a few months. I can’t imagine what it must feel like after a few years. I guess I’m just saying, it’s okay to be weirded out, dude. It’s okay to not know how you feel other than  _ not  _ okay.” 

Ricky sighs. Red is right on at least one thing: it’s definitely like stepping into a parallel universe. “I just… I guess I didn’t think it would be this different.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing, though?” Big Red asks. “I thought you hated it here.” 

“I did. I  _ do _ . I think.” 

“Well, it’s not the same place anymore. Everything else has changed. So maybe that’ll change, too,” his best friend offers with a soft smile. 

* * *

By the time they finish unpacking their belongings and setting up the air mattress (Red prefers his mattress hard, and Ricky inflates the bed almost to bursting before his best friend is satisfied), Lynne has finished preparing dinner. His mother was always the better cook - they used to joke that his dad could burn takeout - but in the years after they moved, she was rarely in the kitchen. He’d almost forgotten what her cooking smelled like, but the scent of pot roast wafting from the kitchen is unmistakable and Ricky’s mouth waters almost instantaneously despite himself. 

“Boys! Dinner!” Lynne calls up the stairs. For a minute, he feels seventeen again. Like he’s just hanging out with his best friend from school in some idealized fantasy version of the past. In another life, if he and Big Red had known each other in high school, maybe things would have been this way. But then he remembers that they’re in their twenties. That they’re adults. And the whole thing feels weird again. 

* * *

“Looks great, Lynne,” Todd says as they sit down at the dining table. Ricky wants to scoff at the way he compliments his mother, because coming from almost anyone else, it would sound insincere. Except that Todd always did things like this. He complimented her cooking. He bought her flowers just because. He stopped by the bakery on the way home from work and remembered to get red velvet cupcakes because they were Ricky’s favorite. Like a real life  _ Brady Bunch  _ character. He used to hate it. He used to think it was all an act. A long con to get him to trust him and call him “dad” and treat him like a father figure even though he already had one and didn’t need another. But he isn’t so sure, now. 

“Oh stop,” Lynne says shyly, setting the roast in the center of the table. “Your mashed potatoes are the real star, here.” 

Todd smiles modestly. “Just warming up before the ol’ Thanksgiving feast.” 

Ricky does scoff at this, but he does his best to play it off in a good-natured, fondly-teasing way while he scoops a helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate and passes the bowl to Big Red. Todd’s mashed potatoes have always been good. Obnoxiously good. So damn good that Ricky used to hate Todd more and more with every spoonful of buttery, garlicky perfection. 

“So,” his mother begins once they’ve all helped themselves, “how’s work?” 

Ricky turns to Big Red, who smiles gamely and swallows a mouthful of roast. “It’s good!” he says amiably. 

“What do you do for a living?” Todd inquires. 

“Oh, me? I run a skate shop.” 

“An entrepreneur!” Todd declares, as if it’s the most coveted job in the world. 

“Yeah,” Ricky puts in, beaming proudly. “Red runs the best skate shop in Salt Lake City. Tony Hawk endorsed him.” 

Big Red blushes, shrugging shyly. “It’s no big deal,” he says. “I bet he endorses a lot of places.” 

Ricky shakes his head. “No, but he  _ endorsed _ Big Red’s. Like, made an appearance at the store, signed skate decks. It was a whole thing.” 

“I think I read about it on Facebook,” Lynne murmurs. “Ricky, how about you? How’s work going?” 

He pushes mashed potatoes around his plate, hollowing out a small tunnel with his spoon. “It’s good,” he says. 

_ Good  _ is an understatement. But it would take too long to tell them about his year-and-a-half at East High so far. How could he possibly recount every detail of EJ and Gina’s attempted sabotage? Or how they became friends - more like family - despite all of that? How can he begin to detail the musical revue they staged and how the superintendent capitulated to their requests? How can he possibly share how much he’s learned from his students and his coworkers? How can he sum up the ways in which this job is more than a job? It’s given him a home. They had to be there to know, and they weren’t. 

“How’s  _ Nini _ ?” Lynne questions, eyes twinkling. 

Ricky bristles at the taunting, singsong way his mother sings her name. “She’s good.” 

“Your mother’s told me all about her,” Todd says. “Can’t wait to meet her.” 

_ Don’t hold your breath,  _ Ricky thinks. 

“So?” his mother prods teasingly. “When can we expect a save-the-date for the wedding? I can’t wait for grandkids.” 

A wave of nausea washes over Ricky. “You know what?” he says abruptly. “I, uh, I just remembered. I was supposed to post an assignment over break. I’ll...be right back.” He doesn’t wait to be excused. He doesn’t wait to hear what his mom or Todd have to say. He pushes his chair back, stands, and retreats up the stairs to his room.

Big Red texts him a second later.  _ You ok?  _

_ Yeah _ , he replies.  _ Can you do me a favor and cover for me? Just need a minute  _

_ I gotchu dude _

It’s stupid. He knows he’s being stupid. And spiteful. But he can’t help the resentment that flares within him. Who does his mother think she is to question him on his relationship with Nini? Who does she think she is to pry about a proposal and grandkids? She doesn’t have a right to that information. Not when the only thing she ever taught him about how to have a healthy relationship was to  _ not  _ do what she did. He and Nini are solid. More solid than he’s ever felt in his life. But his mother doesn’t get to know that. She doesn’t get to casually bring it up around the dinner table as if she was there every step of the way. As if she regularly drops by, shares laughs and secrets about him with Nini, and passes down recipes. She doesn’t get to act like - well, like Nini’s moms. She hasn’t even met Nini in person. 

Ricky does the only thing he can think to do in the moment. He FaceTimes Nini. The phone trills several times while the call connects, and then suddenly Nini appears, smiling widely, her hair gathered in two loose ponytails. She’s holding the phone at chin-height, and Ricky laughs at the angle. 

“Hey,” she says, adjusting her phone so that he’s looking at her head-on. For a moment, it feels like he’s standing right in front of her. Any closer and he’d be able to reach out and touch her. He feels a pang in his chest and realizes how much he misses her.

“Hey,” he returns, an easy smile breaking across his face. 

“What’s up?” He can tell she’s forcing the casual tone, trying to play it off like no big deal. Like he’s not a thousand miles away. 

He frowns at the background - the cream walls and the recessed lights that are instantly recognizable. “Are you at your moms’ house?” 

Nini smiles sheepishly. “Yeah,” she admits. “It’s weird being home all day without you, so I stopped by to help them prep for Thanksgiving. How’s Chicago?”

“It’s...alright,” Ricky says, averting his gaze to the blue walls and the air mattress on the floor. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Nini glances surreptitiously offscreen and the background begins to move as she takes him upstairs to her childhood bedroom.

“It’s weird,” he confesses, reclining on the bed. For a moment, sitting in the bedrooms they grew up in, it feels like they’re teenagers. Like they’ve been best friends since childhood, telling each other secrets and commiserating about their problems. He lays the phone on its side and stares at Nini’s face, trying to imagine that he’s lying right beside her. It doesn’t feel the same. 

“What’s weird about it?”

“Everything.” His eyes dart around the room. “It’s...complicated.” 

“Ricky,” Nini says gently, compelling him to meet her eyes. “That’s normal.” She smiles softly as she glances around her bedroom. He knows what she sees. Peach-colored walls and pink curtains. Fairy lights and a wicker egg chair. Just like his room, hers was left untouched after she left her moms’ home. “I come back here all the time, but it still feels just as strange. I’ve grown up since I lived in this house. And so have you. Going back to a place you’ve outgrown can feel sort of…” 

“Depressing?” he supplies. 

“Yeah,” Nini nods. “Sort of depressing. It reminds you that, for better or worse, you’re not the same person anymore. And whether you miss the time you spent there or not, it’s still a part of who you are.” 

He knows what Nini means, even if the sentiment doesn’t apply in the same way. When Nini goes back into that childhood bedroom, she’s reminded of a time when life was simpler and perhaps safer. Being back here is just a reminder of how much better off he is with her and the friends who have become their family. And yet, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s a little more complex than that. “I guess I’m just confused,” he sighs. “My mom is being really nice and Todd’s being… well, Todd, but he’s not as unbearable as he used to be. I came here expecting to be disappointed and so far...well, so far everything seems fine.”

“That’s a good thing, Ricky,” Nini reassures him gently. For a fleeting moment, he swears he can feel her hand closing gently around his wrist and giving him a reassuring squeeze. 

“Yeah,” he chokes, a sense of relief flooding him. “I guess. Anyway, enough about me. How are you?” 

“Surviving,” Nini laughs. “You know Mama D. I wasn’t even here for ten minutes before she put a mop in my hand.” 

“Classic Mama D,” Ricky chuckles. 

“And it’s a good thing you set those alarms on my phone because I already forgot to water the plant until it went off.” 

He laughs and taps the side of his head knowingly. “Every Monday and Thursday. Don’t forget.” 

“I miss you,” Nini confesses, and the simple sincerity with which she says it takes his breath away. She says it easily and naturally. A mere fact of the universe, as obvious as the earth being round or the sky being blue. 

“I miss you, too,” he murmurs. 

She brightens. “But it’s just a few more days, right? We survived for years before we met.” 

“Yeah,” he replies quietly. She’s right. She’s usually right. But even so, now that he knows what it feels like to love Nini and to be loved by her, he knows he can never go back. Days apart may as well be years, and he can no longer remember how he made it so long without having her in his life.

* * *

Ricky has never been able to fall asleep in a new environment. It took him almost a week to be able to sleep fitfully when he moved into his dorm. When he moved to the Philippines, it took nearly two. But this is the same room he slept in every night from the time he was twelve until he left for college. This isn’t a new environment.

He supposes he could blame it on the primal screeches emanating from Big Red’s noise machine, or the Darth Vader-esque sound of his sleep apnea machine. But he knows that even if his best friend weren’t here, he would still be up anyway. He stares at the ceiling, and his heart skips a beat when he realizes that the glow-in-the-dark stars his mother painstakingly arranged into constellations on his ceiling are still there. He squints in the darkness to make them out. They’ve long since lost their glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes chapter 2 (and most of the exposition). Chapter 3 is where we'll hit the ground running, and I'm excited for you all to see what I've got planned. I'd love to hear your thoughts on chapter 2 and where Ricky is at emotionally. Till the next chapter, stay safe and healthy and don't forget to take time for yourselves, too!


	3. I Miss Your Face Like Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, I must apologize yet again for posting a chapter and immediately going offline for basically a week. I could offer a million excuses (and a billion sorrys. get it? GET IT?!) but I won't. The truth is, I'm swamped with work as we prepare to reopen school (virtually for students, in-person for staff). I've been writing to keep myself sane and doing very little else. I have read and replied to every comment (I think) - please don't think I didn't read them or appreciate them because I absolutely do. Writing this story (and this series) has been and continues to be a joy, and one of the main outlets I have to pour myself into. So thank you for reading and for your continued comments and support. It truly does mean the world.

When Ricky wakes up, Big Red is still asleep on the air mattress. For once he’s grateful for the cacophony of noises emanating from the white noise machine. It covers the sound of him rising from the bed, pulling up the covers, and slipping from the room. 

It’s 7 AM and it isn’t a school day. He shouldn’t be awake right now. But after spending most of the night tossing and turning, the last thing he wants to do is lie there any longer. His bedroom was once his sanctuary in this house. It feels more like a prison now. 

The sound of running water draws him to the kitchen, and he half-expects Todd to be there, cooking up pancakes, flipping them with flourish and drawing whipped cream smiley faces on them before passing them to Ricky. He used to do that on special occasions, and Ricky would inevitably wipe the whipped cream off with a napkin before begrudgingly tucking in. But Todd isn’t in the kitchen. His mother is. She stands at the sink, dressed in exercise pants and a hoodie as she rinses out the last dregs of coffee from her mug. She turns around just as he passes through the doorway. 

“Good morning, sweetie,” she says softly, setting the mug down in the drainer and shutting off the tap. “You’re up early.” 

“Yeah,” Ricky says, rubbing his eyes. “So are you.” 

Lynne glances at the oven clock. “Not any earlier than usual,” she says. “I just got back from my morning run.” Since when did his mom start going on morning runs? “You, on the other hand,” she says, a hint of teasing in her tone, “were  _ never  _ an early bird.” 

Ricky yawns and a slight smile cracks across his face despite himself. “Yeah, well, things change. I’m a teacher now. Getting up early kinda comes with the territory.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” Lynne responds, gesturing for him to sit on one of the barstools at the island. She sets about making him coffee. His mother seems different than she did yesterday, and he can’t help but feel that she looks more herself in the early morning hours. Her face has some color to it, and the golden sunlight brings out the brown in her hair and hides the gray. She hums to herself while the coffee brews, then slides the mug to him when it’s done. He takes a sip and realizes that she remembers exactly how he likes it: a splash of cream and way too much sugar. 

“Your Aunt Linda and Cousin Michelle are flying out from Cincinnati to join us,” she tells him quietly, drying a spoon on the dish towel and inspecting it closely. 

He chafes at the way she says it - the way she always insisted that he address Todd’s sister as “Aunt Linda” even though she bore no relation to him. But he bites his tongue this time and settles for a mildly interested, “Oh?”

His mother breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Yes,” she confirms, brightening. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen them. They’re both excited you’ll be joining us this year. You’ll hardly recognize Michelle. She’s all grown up now…” 

“Yeah,” Ricky says, stirring his coffee and watching as it whirlpools around the mug, sloshing dangerously close to the rim. He can hardly picture Linda, much less Michelle, who is four years his junior. The last time he saw her, she was just getting ready to graduate high school.

“Of course, we’ll still need to do some shopping before tomorrow,” Lynne murmurs. 

“I’ll do it,” Ricky declares suddenly, setting his mug down. 

“Oh, Ricky, you don’t have to -” 

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupts. “Big Red wanted to see the sights anyway. We could go around Chicago and pick up the groceries on the way back. Kill two birds with one stone.” 

His mother hesitates. “Alright,” she relents. “I’ll get a list together. Thank you,” she smiles, patting him on the shoulder on her way out of the room. 

“Don’t mention it,” he murmurs, picking up his coffee again. He can’t admit to his mother that he’s already looking for an excuse to get out of the house. He hasn’t even been here for twenty-four hours.

* * *

“Are we here?” Big Red questions, craning his neck to see the massive building through the window of Lynne’s car.

“We’re here,” Ricky confirms, steering into a parking garage. He hands the keys to the attendant and turns to his best friend. “C’mon,” he jerks his head in the direction of the street. Together, they step out into the freezing, deceptively-bright day. 

“So, I know you didn’t really care about the city,” Big Red says as they walk towards Willis Tower, “but you must’ve hung out here at least once or twice.” 

“I guess,” Ricky shrugs. “But I never really did the tourist stuff. It felt kinda lame to act all touristy when this was supposed to be my home.” 

“So you’ve  _ never  _ seen the Sears Tower?”

“It’s actually called Willis Tower now. And not up close,” he laughs.

Big Red smiles. “I guess we’re both tourists today.” 

They walk the half block to Willis Tower. When they reach the entrance, Big Red tilts his head up, following the building’s facade all the way to the roof. “This is it?” 

“This is it,” Ricky confirms. 

“I guess I expected it to be more… I dunno, impressive.” 

Ricky laughs. The building is a dark glass monolith, towering over everything around it like an ominous giant with rectangular bulges that jut out in seemingly-random directions. He has to agree with his best friend’s assessment. For a landmark, it is pretty unremarkable. 

They go up to the Skydeck anyway, and Big Red eagerly steps into the glass box that hangs out from the building’s upper floors, giving visitors the feeling of floating over the city. Ricky joins him, giggling despite himself at the vertigo-inducing heights. If Nini were there, she would probably yell at them to get off the platform. He learned firsthand how great her fear of heights was when he coaxed her onto a ferris wheel at the carnival last year. He can already think of a hundred ways to justify to her why the Skydeck is perfectly safe. Some of the finest engineers in the world designed it. Millions of visitors have stood on the same glass. There haven’t been any catastrophes in its history. But Nini isn’t there, and he and Big Red are free to jump around on the glass platform and laugh to each other like a pair of giddy kids deliberately disobeying their parents’ orders. 

* * *

The walk to Cloud Gate is short, taking them down West Monroe Street and past the Pritzker Museum before bringing them to Millenium Park. 

“I went ice skating here once,” Ricky tells Big Red, pointing out a section of the park that will be transformed into a skating rink in December. 

“You know how to ice skate?” 

“No,” Ricky laughs. “I fell on my ass like a billion times. But the girl I was dating at the time wanted to go, so I took her.” They fall silent for a moment. It feels strange to talk about his high school ex-girlfriend, even though the relationship flamed out long before he went to college, and even though Big Red already knows. He glances around surreptitiously, as if she could materialize at any moment and overhear. “Anyway,” he clears his throat, “Cloud Gate is right over there.” 

“But I wanted to see the Bean,” Big Red says. 

“Cloud Gate  _ is  _ the Bean,” Ricky answers, starting toward the massive, reflective sculpture. 

“Well if it’s shaped like a bean, why would they call it Cloud Gate?” Red counters. “That’s just dumb.” 

“Beats me, dude, but you wanted to see it, so here it is,” he gestures to the metallic, kidney-bean shaped structure. 

“It’s big,” Red notes, gazing at their reflections in the landmark. “And shiny.” He turns to Ricky. “Dude, not to bash your city or anything-” 

“It’s not my city,” Ricky shakes his head. 

“Right. Well, not to bash Chicago or anything, but they really need to step up their landmark game. And that’s coming from someone who was born and raised in Salt Lake City.” 

Ricky laughs. “Yeah, well, I guess Chicago has a habit of over-promising.” 

“I hope the hot dogs are better.” 

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. “But don’t hold your breath.” 

Big Red snaps a picture of the two of them throwing up peace signs in front of Cloud Gate and texts it to Ashlyn, murmuring that she’d likely appreciate the public artwork more than either of them could. He’s proven wrong a few minutes later when she replies as they walk back to the car. He angles his phone screen to show Ricky the paragraph-long rant Ashlyn sends him detailing all the reasons why Anish Kapoor is the ultimate villain of the art world. After reading the list, they both have to agree, and they solemnly swear to never visit Cloud Gate again.

* * *

For the first time, Ricky finds himself regretting that he didn’t make more of an effort to get to know Chicago while he lived here. They sit in the front of his mom’s car, scrolling through Yelp reviews for the best Chicago-style hot dog place nearby and eventually settle on a place five blocks over. 

“You know,” Big Red begins around a mouthful of hot dog once they’ve taken their seats at the bar-style counter. Yellow taxis whiz past the plate glass window in front of them. “I never would’ve expected tomatoes and pickles to go well on a hot dog, but this is actually pretty good.” 

Ricky swivels on his stool to face his best friend and chuckles. “Well, I guess we got one thing right.” 

“More than one,” Big Red says, plucking at a poppy seed on his roll. Ricky looks at him questioningly. “Look, whether you like it or not, some part of you was raised here. And you’re pretty great, so I’d say Chicago got at least one more thing right.” 

“Dude,” Ricky shakes his head, unable to suppress the smile that spreads across his face, “you’re kinda the best.” 

The redhead shrugs. “I know.” 

* * *

Jewel-Osco is predictably crowded with last-minute Thanksgiving shoppers. The shelves are empty of cans of green beans and cranberry sauce, and the meat section is stripped bare of turkeys and hams. Ricky rides along on the back of the shopping cart, using his right foot to kick off the ground while they meander their way through the produce aisle, picking up sweet potatoes, butternut squash, and brussels sprouts. By the time they reach the bakery, Big Red has climbed onto the back of the shopping cart, giggling as Ricky pushes him around the store, careening from aisle-to-aisle as they dodge holiday shoppers.

They pause in the breakfast aisle. Ricky snatches up a box of Lucky Charms. “I used to beg my mom to buy Lucky Charms when I was a kid. She always said no,” he laments. 

“Really? My mom never had a problem with Lucky Charms,” Big Red says, taking the box from his hand and dropping it into the cart.

“Dude, I just said my mom never let me get them…” 

“As a kid,” Big Red points out. “But you’re a grownup now. She can’t tell you what you can and can’t eat.” 

Ricky opens his mouth to protest, but he closes it again. Nini would remind him that he really didn’t need all that sugar. She would suggest Corn Flakes instead, and he would call it horse food, and they would compromise and get Honey Nut Cheerios. For a moment, he contemplates putting the box of cereal back. But it’s already in the cart and Big Red has a point. They laugh as Ricky propels them both to the checkout. 

* * *

The basement is the last bastion of the “old” house - full of forgotten boxes that were never unpacked from the move, furnished with tattered, overstuffed couches, and dimly lit by sunlight that filters through the narrow, high-mounted windows. The air is musty from years of disuse. 

“Dude, you didn’t tell me you had a PS2,” Big Red says, blowing dust off the game console as he pulls it from the depths of the oaken entertainment center. 

“I totally forgot about it,” Ricky says, flopping onto the couch. The cushion sags beneath him in protest. He puts his feet up on the pockmarked coffee table. “I don’t even know if it still works.” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

Red fires the console up and the opening screen of Pro Skater 4 appears on the tube TV a minute later. Ricky digs up two controllers from the recesses of the entertainment center cabinet and passes one to his best friend. Together, they kick their feet up, eat dry Lucky Charms by the handful, and get lost in the grainy, early-2000s graphics. 

It strikes him that he once dreamed of things like this: having friends over, playing video games in the basement and eating junk food. In another universe - one where Big Red lived in Berwyn or Cicero, one where their paths crossed sooner - perhaps this would have been the case. Perhaps they would have been best friends earlier. Perhaps they would have done exactly this: killed time in his basement, away from his mother and Todd and the endless complaining and listless hours spent in his room alone. Perhaps he could have sought refuge at his best friend’s door on the worst nights. Perhaps they could have gotten a headstart on the all-nighters and insane skateboard stunts and hours spent contemplating the world - the things that defined their college experience. 

But as Big Red nails a heelflip and launches into a handrail hop, he realizes, too, that their friendship wouldn’t have been as special if it had come about sooner. He wouldn’t have appreciated Big Red as much if he hadn’t spent years longing for a best friend like him: someone who unequivocally gets him, who never gets cold and is always ready for an adventure, who is simultaneously profoundly insightful and infinitely clueless, with one of the most kind, sincere hearts in the world. The universe knew what it was doing. Moments like this would not carry nearly as much meaning if they’d spent their high school years doing the exact same thing. Ricky glances over at Big Red, who frowns at the screen in concentration, and smiles to himself. He’s never been more grateful for his redheaded brother-from-another-mother.

* * *

“Look what I found!” Lynne announces after the dishes have been cleared and the leftovers from dinner have been packed away in the fridge. She drops onto the living room couch between Ricky and Big Red, a square, fabric-covered book in her hands. 

“Mom, please,” Ricky groans, instantly recognizing the scrapbook that his mother started practically the moment he was born. The gray cloth is fraying in one corner and the color has faded over time. This much hasn’t changed. His mother used to drag that book out at every opportunity.

“Oh, Ricky, don’t be so embarrassed! You were a cute kid!” 

“That’s not the point,” he grouses, but there is no venom behind his words. Just the obligatory back-and-forth of a son and his embarrassing mother, and the resignation that Big Red is about to endure an hour’s worth of baby photos and the oft-repeated stories that accompany them. His best friend grins, eyes twinkling. 

The first page is familiar by now, and Ricky can almost repeat his mother’s diatribe verbatim. “Look!” she says, as if the photograph is a surprise and not her favorite ever taken of him. “We took this at Disney World when Ricky was five. He met Minnie Mouse at the character breakfast and got all shy. Remember, sweetie? You used to be in love with Minnie Mouse.”

“Yup,” Ricky responds tersely, scarcely able to bring himself to look at the photo. He smiles, shy and close-mouthed at the camera, blushing furiously as Minnie Mouse rests one hand on his shoulder, the other raised to her mouth in a polite giggling gesture. 

“Aww, dude!” Big Red gushes, nudging him playfully. “You had a crush on Minnie Mouse?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Ricky grumbles. 

“It’s all good,” Red answers easily. “My first crush was Maid Marian from Robin Hood. Talk about a foxy ginger, am I right?” 

Ricky rolls his eyes good-naturedly. 

“Oh! And this is when Ricky met Winnie the Pooh in the park,” Lynne continues, showing them the photo of Ricky wrapping his skinny little five-year-old arms around Pooh’s enormous, yellow waist. 

She turns the page. “And this is from our vacation to the Grand Canyon,” she says, tapping a photograph of her, Ricky, and Mike decked out in hiking shoes and shorts and baseball caps. Ricky was eight with a prominent gap where his front tooth was missing. His mother was tan and lively. His father’s hair wasn’t graying yet, and he still wore aviator sunglasses. He’s surprised that his mother didn’t take this family photo out of the scrapbook, or at least cut his father out of the picture.

“I always wanted to visit the Grand Canyon,” Big Red comments, and Ricky isn’t sure if he’s being genuine or just making polite conversation. “My parents are more of the sit-back-and-relax type when it comes to vacations. We went on a lot of cruises.” 

“We only ever went on one,” Lynne replies, “to the Bahamas.” She flips the page. “As a matter of fact, this is a photo from that trip!” She shows them a picture marked carefully in her delicate hand.  _ Bahamas Cruise.  _ It was taken the day the ship arrived in Nassau. Nine year-old Ricky stands on a white sand beach against a backdrop of blue-green water, his hair sun-bleached and unruly from saltwater with a rapidly-reddening sunburn across his nose. His father makes an appearance in this picture too, one hand perched on his shoulder and the other wrapped around his mother’s waist fondly. It was his dad’s Facebook profile picture for years. It was also the last family vacation they took before the divorce.

They relive his tenth birthday, with his Spiderman birthday cake that came out a little too pink and lopsided, and an endless array of Halloween costume photos: a train conductor, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, Troy Bolton, Harry Potter, and the red Power Ranger. 

Ricky notices the dearth of photos after they moved to Chicago. There are a few scattered throughout the remaining pages of the album: an exterior shot of the house the way it used to look, with its sagging gutters and the gnarled sycamore tree on the lawn, a picture of him, smiling with tight lips as he towers over his mother in front of the Christmas tree, one or two images that include Todd and various other family members that aren’t his own. His mother quickly skips over the photos from her and Todd’s wedding, and Ricky lets out a sigh of relief for that.

There is a singular photo from prom of Ricky in his tux and red bowtie that matched the sparkling red dress of his date. There is one photo from his high school graduation that depicts him in his blue cap and gown, smiling grimly as he holds up his diploma. Then a four year gap where there are no photographs at all. 

“That’s me!” Big Red points excitedly to the next picture, taken at their college graduation. 

“Of course,” Lynne smiles. “Ricky always speaks so highly of you. The scrapbook wouldn’t be complete without you.” 

Ricky can’t help but notice that he looks genuinely happy in this photo, grinning triumphantly with his best friend as they throw their caps up in celebration.

What follows is a loose assortment of images and artifacts - his mother really put the scrap in scrapbook. There are a few photos of trips she took with Todd, a handful of images from when she took golf lessons, and various family photos taken in his absence. There’s the birthday card that he sent her at Nini’s behest, bearing both of their names in her intricate script. 

“What’s this?” he asks, pointing to a clipping from a magazine. 

“Oh,” Lynne laughs self-consciously, sliding the book closer to her son. “I found it in a copy of Vanity Fair at the doctor’s office…” 

“That’s us,” Ricky murmurs, staring slack-jawed at the advertisement for Kourtney’s new athleisure line. It depicts him and all his friends lounging in their living room, laughing at something he can’t remember. It feels surreal to see himself rendered in black-and-white, clad in the clothing that Kourtney designed. Most of the photos from that day were unposed, this one most especially. He is surprised that the ad ran in a national publication, and he is even more surprised that his mother happened to see it.

“I wasn’t expecting to open a magazine and see your face,” Lynne admits. “But now I can tell my coworkers that my son and his friends are models.” 

He never mentioned the photoshoot to his mother. Truthfully, he never really expected it to run anywhere outside the greater Salt Lake City area, and it didn’t seem relevant in the ten-minute conversations they had once or twice a month. His mother never mentioned coming across the ad either. He can’t help but wonder why. Was she too shy? Did she feel slighted that she had to find out that her son was in an ad campaign for his fashion designer friend the same way everyone else did: by stumbling across it in an issue of Vanity Fair? Perhaps she was afraid that he would rebuff her if she called just to tell him, and so she said nothing. Perhaps she wanted to enjoy an image of her son unfiltered, in his element, and truly happy. Perhaps she didn’t want to taint this photo with his rejection. He wonders if his mother has always kept tabs on him from a safe distance, collecting and curating artifacts of his life so that she could be party to his joy without the accompanying, mutual misery that colored most of their interactions after they moved. 

* * *

That night, Lynne video chats Linda to go over travel details. “Todd will pick you both up when your flight gets in,” she says. “Ricky is staying in his old bedroom, but we’ve got the futon in the office and the pullout couch in the basement.” 

“Oh, is Ricky there already?” Linda asks, her voice eager. 

Lynne smiles and motions for Ricky to join her on the couch. He hesitates for a moment before finally plopping down beside her. “Look, it’s Aunt Linda!” his mother practically gushes. As if he’s a toddler who needs to be reminded. 

“Hi,” Ricky says, mustering as much enthusiasm as he can and offering a stiff wave. The image onscreen is slightly distorted and poorly-lit, but Linda looks nothing like he remembers. Her hair is short and gray, her wrinkles more deep-set, and her lips are rimmed in a bright, red-orange shade of lipstick.

“Oh my god, Ricky, is that you?” she says, practically shouting as she leans forward and squints at her computer screen. “Look at you! You’re a man now! And so handsome!” 

Ricky laughs self-consciously as Big Red eases himself down next to him.

“Oh! And your mother mentioned you were bringing a special someone this year. Is that them?” 

Ricky’s eyes widen as he turns to his best friend. “Oh! Um, actually...” he can feel heat rising from the base of his neck up to his cheeks. The tips of his ears glow bright red. “I, uh, this is Big Red! He’s…” 

Linda chuckles. “Don’t be so embarrassed, Ricky! It’s okay. Love is love.” 

His eyes widen as Big Red lets out a snicker and even Lynne is unable to suppress a laugh. “No, I don’t think you understand. Big Red is -”

“It doesn’t matter who you date,” Linda says sagely. “As long as you’re happy.” 

“Great advice, Aunt Linda!” Big Red blurts, unable to contain himself, and she acknowledges him with a bright smile of her own. 

“I’m looking forward to meeting you, young man!” 

“Alright,” Lynne interrupts, coming to her son’s rescue. “You’ve got an early flight and a long day ahead of you, Linda. I’ll let you go. See you tomorrow!” 

“Bye-bye, now,” Linda waves at the screen until Lynne disconnects the call. 

“Well that’ll be fun to explain to her tomorrow,” Ricky sighs. 

“It occurs to me that I may not have been clear about  _ who  _ exactly you were bringing…” his mother murmurs.

“Dude, don’t worry about it,” Big Red says with a playful grin. “Love is love.” 

Ricky shoves him playfully. “Love you, too, dude.” 

* * *

“So yeah,” Ricky says, staring into his phone screen at Nini’s smiling face. “Now Todd’s sister thinks I’m in a relationship with Big Red.” 

She giggles. “Well with the way you two carry on sometimes, I have to question whether or not I’m a sidepiece,” she teases. 

“You’ll always be my number one,” he answers. Nini dips her head shyly in response, making his heart flutter. 

“How are you doing today?” she asks after a moment, her tone turning serious. “I know you were feeling weird about being back in Chicago and all…” 

“Still kinda weird,” Ricky admits, shifting on the bed so that he’s lying on his stomach. He props the phone up against his headboard. “But...I think I feel a little better.” 

“That’s good,” Nini nods.

“I miss you like hell, though.” 

“I miss you, too,” she smiles softly. 

“So I told you what I’m gonna be doing for Thanksgiving tomorrow. What are your plans?” 

“Oh, you know,” she answers vaguely, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just spending the day with my moms. Nothing special.” 

“Yeah, well I’ll take that over having to break Aunt Linda’s heart when I tell her Big Red isn’t actually my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Nini laughs.

“Promise you won’t be jealous?” he asks playfully.

“Of you and Big Red?” Nini feigns offense. “I could never. I knew what I was getting into when I first fell in love with you.” 

The way she says it - with soft eyes and a quiet voice - steals his breath away. Part of him regrets leaving Salt Lake City at all, because it means he won’t be spending the holiday with her. But most of him is glad he decided to come. 

For the first time, Ricky doesn’t have trouble sleeping that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the halfway point of the story! As I'm sure you're seeing by now, this story is really about Ricky and his own journey to understand and make peace with his past. As for his mother, Todd, and the other characters that populate his life in Chicago, I leave it open to your interpretation as to whether they've changed for the better. I would love to hear your thoughts (and I promise to read and respond to them when I have time!). I don't know how soon the next update will come - teachers return to school tomorrow for training and professional development - but I hope it will be soon. Like I said, this story is one of the few productive outlets I have and it's a joy to work on it. Until next time!
> 
> PS - To any midwestern readers here, please know that I personally bear no grudge against the City of Chicago. I've never been, but I'm told it's lovely by my friends who go to Lollapalooza every year.


	4. My Family Lives In A Different State

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another update! As this story starts to wrap up, I'm excited for what comes next. I am working on a longer oneshot (that may end up being broken into chapters for the sake of readability) to cap off this AU, and I also have ideas for a potential future AU I might want to pursue after this. In any case, I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter!

“Ricky, can you pass the cranberry sauce?” Nini asks, smiling brightly. Her eyes are glassy, reflecting the soft glow of the chandelier above their heads, and her face is flushed from countless glasses of red wine. 

He reaches to his right, takes hold of the blue ceramic bowl, and hands it to her with a soft smile of his own, supporting the bottom of the dish until he’s certain she has it. She heaps some onto her plate, scoops a small bit up with her spoon, and gingerly holds it out to their daughter, who opens her mouth eagerly. He smiles fondly at their baby girl, who has his curly locks and her dark, dreamy eyes. 

“I think she likes my cranberry sauce,” EJ says, cooing at the baby. 

“ _ Your _ cranberry sauce?” Gina questions with an arched eyebrow. “This  _ clearly  _ came from a can.”

“Yeah, but I bought it, didn’t I?” EJ shrugs. “And clearly she loves it.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Carlos scoffs teasingly. “She’s a baby. She doesn’t know any better.” 

“Not to be a downer, babe,” Seb chimes in, turning to Carlos, “but she hasn’t touched the rice you made.” 

Carlos sniffs airily to the baby. “Don’t worry. We’ll upgrade your taste. No goddaughter of mine will be caught dead eating canned cranberry sauce.” 

“Um, excuse me,” Ashlyn says with mock severity. “She’s  _ my  _ goddaughter.” 

“Uh, no,” Big Red replies. “She’s  _ my  _ goddaughter.” 

“You’re both wrong. She’s  _ my  _ goddaughter,” Kourtney insists.

“Guys,” Nini interrupts with a giggle, “you’re all her godparents. We’ve been over this.” 

“That’s right,” Ricky adds with a smile. “Because you’re all family.” 

The house starts to shake. The walls tremble and the room is filled with a loud  _ whoosh _ . No one but Ricky seems to notice, and in the next instant he feels himself emerging from the depths of the pleasant dream. He wants to claw it back. He wants to put himself back to sleep and wrap himself in the warm, fulfilling sensations. But before he can try, he finds himself staring at the faded stars on the ceiling while his mother pushes the vacuum around downstairs, bumping into the baseboards as she goes. Ricky rubs sleep from his eyes and glances at the alarm clock. 8:03. 

He should have known that sleeping in would be impossible on Thanksgiving Day. Growing up, his mom was always awake at dawn, vacuuming and mopping and dusting and chiding his father for not moving fast enough. And if he wasn’t up by 8 to help, he could rest assured that she would shake him awake and drag him downstairs. 

Apparently the sound of the vacuum is enough to cut through Big Red’s white noise machine and respirator, because he rolls over and mumbles sleepily, “Is that an earthquake?” 

“Nope,” Ricky chuckles. “That’s Lynne Bowen.” He sits up in bed. “Better get up before she comes in here and forces us.” 

“Still beats being at my parents’ place,” Big Red yawns. “Which reminds me. I should call them. They’ve probably started eating by now, so who knows how much longer they’ll be awake?” 

“Good idea,” Ricky murmurs, reaching for his phone. Utah is an hour behind, but it won’t matter much. Nini’s always been an early-riser. Doubly so on holidays, when he normally has to remind her to go to bed in the first place. The FaceTime call rings out once, twice, three times. Ricky frowns at his own image onscreen. Nini seldom lets her phone ring more than three times. 

_ FaceTime unavailable. _

Worry courses through him, and his heart skips a beat. It’s not like Nini to miss a call. Even in the unlikely scenario that she’s still in bed, she always leaves her sound on at night. What if there was an accident? Or a fire that forced her to evacuate the condo and leave her phone behind? He has to remind himself to take a deep breath. There must be a rational explanation, and the only reason he’s jumping to conclusions is because he isn’t there with her. He can’t see her to ascertain that she’s alright. 

“What’s wrong?” Big Red asks, noting his best friend’s furrowed brow. 

“Huh? Oh. Nothing,” Ricky shakes his head. “Just… Nini’s not answering her phone.” 

The redhead shrugs. “It’s Thanksgiving, dude. She’s probably just busy. I’m sure she’ll call you back later.” 

“Yeah,” Ricky nods, trying his best to sound reassured. “Yeah, that’s probably it.” Truthfully, that probably is it. Nini always makes two pies for Thanksgiving: pumpkin and apple. Her hands are probably covered in dough. She’ll probably call in an hour, smiling sheepishly with bits of flour streaked through her hair. 

They’ve spent every holiday together since they began dating. With his family so far away, it felt like a given. It feels wrong to be spending this one apart. He quickly taps out a text to her just in case.  _ Happy Thanksgiving! Give Mama C and Mama D a hug for me. _

He locks his phone and turns to Big Red. “We should probably head downstairs.”

They find Lynne attacking the kitchen sink with a sponge, her too-large rubber gloves falling down her forearms as she scrubs. She pauses when they enter the room. “Happy Thanksgiving!” she chirps. “I’m glad you boys are up. Todd just ran to the airport to get Linda and I could use a few extra hands. Can I trouble you for some help?” 

“Sure thing, Ms. Bowen,” Big Red says, wincing a second after the words leave his lips when it occurs to him that he doesn’t know what she goes by. He doesn’t even know what Todd’s last name is. If she takes offense, she doesn’t let on.

Ricky turns to Big Red and smirks. “It’s like I never left.” 

Lynne hands them each a feather duster and murmurs about Linda’s asthma before sending them off to clean the shelves while she preheats the oven and puts the turkey in. 

* * *

Ricky’s heart skips a beat when he hears the key turn in the lock. A moment later, Todd’s voice rings out from the foyer. “We’re home!” he announces loudly, like they’re living in a 1950s sitcom. Lynne hurries to the door, but Ricky hangs back in the kitchen, scrubbing the same spot over and over on the counter until he thinks he might actually remove a piece of the granite. 

It was all well and good when he was looking at Linda through a screen, flushing red with embarrassment the more she spoke. But it somehow hadn’t processed that she would actually  _ be  _ here. That he would actually be forced to spend the holiday with a near-stranger who purported to be his family. He smiles at Big Red, but the expression comes out as more of a grimace. Steeling himself, he emerges from the kitchen to find his mom taking Linda’s coat and folding Michelle into a hug, inquiring pleasantly about their flight. 

“Is that Ricky?” Linda declares as soon as her gaze settles on him. “My god, you’ve gotten so tall. Come here!” She holds her arms out for a hug. 

“Hi,” he greets with an awkward laugh and a frozen smile. He isn’t sure what else to say or what to call her. He can’t bring himself to address her as his aunt, but simply calling her Linda seems like a one-way ticket to a stern look from his mom. So he leaves it at that and stiffly accepts her hug. 

Linda’s daughter stands by the door, her smile equally as tight. Ricky finally looks up at her. Truthfully, he could hardly remember what she looked like, but he’s pretty sure she wasn’t a blonde before. And did she always wear glasses? Michelle was in high school the last time he saw her. Their conversation had been dull and obligatory, full of vague pleasantries and the understanding that they had nothing in common. Her laugh had been obnoxious to the point of grating. He remembers that much.

“Hi, Ricky,” she says pleasantly. The sleeves of her gray sweater dangle past her hands.

“Hi,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief when she doesn’t go in for an uncomfortable hug like her mother and instead keeps her distance. 

They’re interrupted when Linda spots Big Red lingering in the kitchen doorway. “Oh! And this must be your boyfriend! So good to meet you. I’m Linda…” 

Red is unable to stop himself from turning, well,  _ red  _ as he tries to contain his laughter while also stammering out an explanation. 

“Actually, Linda,” Lynne begins, “Big Red is…” 

“Big Red is my best friend,” Ricky finishes. 

Linda has already enveloped the redhead in a lung-crushing hug. “Oh, that’s so sweet,” she gushes. “I used to call Phil my best friend, too. Still do, even though he’s been gone for nine years now, god rest his soul…” 

“No,” Ricky cuts in with a sigh of exasperation. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my best friend.  _ Just  _ my best friend. I love him, but, like, platonically.” 

Linda releases Big Red and turns to Ricky, confusion etched in her features. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to hide who you are. It’s okay...” 

“Mom,” Michelle finally interrupts. “Why don’t we give Ricky and - sorry, Big Red, is it?” She waits for the young man to nod before continuing. “Why don’t we give Ricky and Big Red some peace and go unpack our things?” 

Linda chuckles fondly and pats Big Red’s cheek before starting for the stairs. “Of course.” 

“Sorry about her,” Michelle murmurs to Ricky and Big Red once her mother is out of earshot. “She means well, I promise. Ever since I came out, she’s been  _ super  _ supportive, but sometimes she gets a little…” She traces her index finger in a circular pattern beside her head in the universal sign for  _ crazy _ . 

For the first time, Ricky feels himself relax and lets out a genuine laugh. “Well, at least she’s trying, right?” he offers. 

“I guess you’re right,” Michelle shrugs. “Anyway, I’m gonna go help her unpack. We’re only staying two nights but she brought the whole house with her. Catch up with you later?” 

“Yeah,” Ricky nods. “Sure.” 

* * *

“I hope I’m doing it right,” Lynne says, opening the oven for the fifth time to check on the turkey. “It always comes out too dry.” 

“Let me,” Big Red suggests. 

“You know how to roast a turkey?” Ricky asks incredulously, his second glass of wine arrested halfway to his lips. 

“And carve it,” Red confirms, inserting the thermometer into the roasting bird. 

“Since when?” Ricky sputters. 

“Since always. You just never asked.” 

Todd sets out the pigs in blankets. It’s only 1 o’clock, but he always believed in getting Thanksgiving started early. Ricky used to chafe at this. His mom had always believed Thanksgiving was a formal affair, with a sit-down dinner that began promptly at 6. But she gladly accommodated Todd’s way of doing things, even if she would have shot his father down over a similar request. Now, though, his stomach is rumbling and Ricky doesn’t complain as he seizes one of the piping hot appetizers, blows on it twice, and pops it in his mouth. 

He checks his phone. The group chat is alight with Thanksgiving messages. Ashlyn shares a photo of her vegan feast. Carlos shares a photo of the turkey that Seb inadvertently burned, setting off the smoke alarms and forcing their apartment building to evacuate. EJ spams the thread with turkey emojis until Kourtney begs him to stop and Gina wishes them all a great holiday from her mom’s latest place in Kansas. Nini is curiously absent. 

“You okay?” 

Ricky jumps, causing Big Red to jerk back involuntarily

“Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly to his best friend. “Didn’t notice you were standing there.” 

“Figured,” Big Red shrugs. “You were too busy staring at your phone like it was a bomb. What gives, anyway?” 

“Nini still hasn’t texted or called,” Ricky replies, knitting his brow. “Not to me, not to the group chat…”

“I mean, I haven’t said anything in the group chat all day either,” Red points out.

“Yeah, but you hardly ever text the group chat. Nini always remembers. Especially on a holiday. You don’t think something happened, do you?” 

Big Red shakes his head and pries Ricky’s phone from his hands, setting it down on the counter facedown. “I  _ think  _ that you should put the phone down and stop worrying so much. She’s probably just helping her moms prepare dinner or something. She’ll call.” 

The young man laughs at his own ridiculousness. “You’re right,” he sighs, shaking his head. He turns back to the kitchen. “What can I help with?” he offers. The distraction is welcome, and when he’s standing in the too-warm kitchen and helping mash potatoes, he finds his family is almost bearable. 

* * *

At 5:30, Ricky and Big Red head upstairs to change. He pulls his burgundy sweater from his closet and dutifully puts it on over khaki pants. Even Big Red, never one for dressing up, dons a navy argyle sweater for the occasion. “How do I look?” Ricky asks, turning away from the mirror and toward his best friend.

“Festive,” Big Red replies. “How do I look?” 

“Dapper,” Ricky grins. 

* * *

“Hot plate coming through! Watch your head!” Lynne announces, carrying the turkey platter high over her head and setting it down in the middle of the table. She hands the carving knife and fork over to Big Red. “We’re very lucky to have an expert in our midst tonight, so your turkey might actually resemble turkey for once.” 

Ricky surreptitiously pulls his phone from his pocket and taps the screen. Still no notifications from Nini. Big Red clears his throat and sends him a meaningful look before turning brightly to Lynne. He accepts the utensils with flourish. “It will be my honor,” he grins, rising from his seat, only to be interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Ricky furrows his brow. “Who’s that?” he asks. “Isn’t everyone here?” 

“I have no idea,” Lynne says, mirroring her son’s expression. Ricky knows enough about his mother to know that something is off about the way she says it. It seems her acting skills didn’t improve with time. “Ricky,” she says gently, “could you go see who it is?” 

“Sure,” he says haltingly, rising slowly from his chair and heading out of the dining room. His thoughts race and his heartbeat quickens as he shuffles through every one of Todd’s relatives in his head, racking his brain for anyone else that might have been invited. His mom has a brother in Florida, but they haven’t spoken in years. Maybe her one aunt from Milwaukee? What was her name? Betty or Bessie or something. He has a fleeting thought that it might be his dad, but while his parents’ relationship warmed slightly over the years (they were able to look each other in the eye at his college graduation), he somehow doubts his dad would make the trek from Denver, or that his mom would even invite him. 

With a shaky inhale and clumsy fingers, he manages to unlock the door. His hand closes around the cool metal of the doorknob and he gives it a twist, pulling it back. For a moment, he doesn’t recognize the woman standing before him, with wavy blonde hair and a rapidly-reddening nose and a casserole dish wrapped in tin foil held out in front of her like an offering. Or rather, he recognizes her because he’d recognize Mama C anywhere, but he can’t process the fact that she’s standing on his mother’s doorstep, eyes twinkling. Because if Mama C is here, that must mean…

“Happy Thanksgiving, babe,” Nini says softly, stepping out from behind her mother as Mama D brings up the rear. 

“Ni...What?” Ricky shakes his head, as if they are mere figments of his imagination that will vanish. “Huh?” He blinks again. She’s still there, wrapped in a blue winter coat with a blue-and-gray-striped beanie perched atop her head. She’s still smiling softly, almost shyly, twirling a plastic bag in her hand by the handles. 

“I don’t understand…” he mumbles in awe, eyes flitting back and forth from Mama C to Nini to Mama D, all smiling, all bundled against the chill, all  _ right here  _ in Chicago. 

“Well, we can explain,” Mama C says, “but would you mind if we explain inside? It’s  _ freezing  _ out here.” 

Ricky jolts out of his astonished daze. “Right. Right, yeah, of course,” he stands aside. “Please. Come in.” 

Mama C shifts the casserole tray to one hand and rises up on her tiptoes, wrapping Ricky in a one-arm hug. The suede of her coat is cold, but somehow he feels warmer. Mama D comes next, an aluminum baking dish in one hand. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart,” she says warmly, following her wife inside. 

And then Nini practically launches herself at him, and he eagerly wraps her in his arms, practically lifting her over the threshold. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” he murmurs against the side of her head. “What are you even doing here?” 

“Hey! You made it!” Big Red interrupts, making his way toward the front door. 

Ricky wheels around. “You  _ knew _ ?” 

“Obviously,” Big Red says, hugging Nini. “Why do you think I was trying to keep you off your phone all day? You’re oblivious, dude.” 

“How?” He turns from his best friend to his girlfriend. 

“I invited them,” his mom replies. “When you said you were planning to visit for Thanksgiving without Nini, I reached out and invited her and her moms. I didn’t want you two to be apart for the holiday. And besides, from everything you’ve said about Nini and her family, it only felt right to include them.” 

“Mom, I…” For once, Ricky is at a loss for words. All his life, he never ran out of things to say to his mother. Or about her. He never ran out of inventive curses and cutting snipes. He never depleted his supply of grievances. For every statement she made, no matter how mundane, he had a snarky reply at-the-ready. But now, standing in the foyer with the love of his life, his mother, and the two women who he’s long thought of as his replacement moms, he doesn’t know what to say. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

While Lynne hugs Nini’s moms in greeting, Ricky turns back to Nini. She’s here. She’s really here. He can reach out and touch her, and he does. One hand comes to rest at her hip and the other strokes her cheek fondly. The warmth is slowly returning to her face, and she sheds her coat, revealing a deep red, floral print dress that matches his sweater. “When did you get in?” he asks. 

“This morning,” Nini replies. “We got an Airbnb and cooked up a storm.” She lifts up the shopping bag in her hand, and he can see the telltale shape of two foil-wrapped pies.

“So that’s why you weren’t answering your phone,” Ricky says, the realization dawning on him.

Nini nods. “I wanted to, believe me. But you would’ve known right away that I wasn’t at my moms’ place. So,” she says, her voice low. “Are you going to introduce me to everyone?” 

Ricky glances back in the direction of the dining room and finds Todd, Linda, and Michelle standing curiously in the doorway. “Right,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He takes her hand and starts toward them. “Nini, this is...Todd, his sister Linda, and her daughter Michelle.” 

“Everyone, this is Nini,” he looks pointedly at Aunt Linda. “My  _ girlfriend _ ,” he emphasizes.

“Oh! I’ve heard of this!” Aunt Linda exclaims, glancing from Ricky to Nini to Big Red. “What is it called? A three? A throuple? Well anyway, the more the merrier, right?” She winks at the three of them. 

“Oh my god, Mom, stop,” Michelle groans. She rolls her eyes and mouths a ‘sorry’ to Ricky. 

Nini giggles. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Linda. Ricky’s told me a  _ lot _ about you.” She turns to Todd and Michelle. “About all of you, actually. It’s great to be able to put faces to names.” 

“So you’re the famous Neens,” Todd says, folding her into a hug. 

Ricky momentarily bristles at Todd’s overly-familiar use of Nini’s nickname. There are only a handful of people who know her as Neens and Todd isn’t one of them. But seeing the way Nini smiles genuinely causes whatever anger briefly surged within him to dissipate. 

Lynne claps her hands together. “Alright, everyone is here. Shall we eat?”

* * *

“This is so good, Dana. What’s it called?” Todd asks, biting into a crispy spring roll. 

“Lumpia,” Mama D supplies. “My mom’s recipe.” 

“Would you mind sharing it?” Todd asks. 

“Family secret,” Mama D answers with a knowing smile. “But then again, my mom always had a very broad definition of family, so I doubt she’ll turn in her grave if I share.” 

“Carol,” Lynne interjects, “this sweet potato casserole is to  _ die  _ for.” 

“Thank you,” Mama C smiles. “It’s not my mother’s recipe, and you should all be thankful for that.” 

“Speaking of thankful,” Nini says, “I don’t know if you have this tradition, but in our family, we always start Thanksgiving dinner by going around the table and sharing one thing we’re grateful for.” She lays one hand on Ricky’s and smiles at him.

“I think that’s a wonderful tradition,” Lynne replies. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything like that. Who wants to start?” 

“I’ll start,” Big Red offers, grinning at Ricky and Nini. “This year, I’m thankful for friendship, because lately, I’ve felt more supported than ever by my friends.”

Ricky nudges his best friend. “Always got your back, dude.” 

Michelle kicks her mother lightly under the table when she begins to coo over how cute they are. 

“I’m thankful for reunions,” Lynne announces, beaming at her son, his best friend, and his partner. “I don’t think I need to say much more. The house feels full again.” 

“I’m thankful that Lynne’s health scare was just that,” Todd says, reaching over for his wife’s hand. “A scare. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, Lynne,” he smiles. “You’ve truly expanded my family, and I’m not ready for that to be over yet. We’ve got a lot of life in us yet.” 

For the first time, Ricky sees Todd as more than the meddler who broke up his parents’ marriage. There’s something in the way his stepfather looks at his mother that reminds him of the way Nini looks at him. It’s adoration and happiness and love, and the way he gently squeezes Lynne’s hand only solidifies this. Todd is not his father, but Todd is someone who loves his mother very much. Moreover, Todd is someone his mother loves very much. 

“I’m thankful for the universe,” Nini says, squeezing Ricky’s hand. He shifts his gaze to her and takes in the way she smiles so brightly, as if she’s been at every Thanksgiving. As if she’s always been part of this family. Her hand is soft and her eyes are glassy after her second glass of wine, and everything about her is warm. “And I’m thankful for all the good things the universe has brought into my life. Friendship, joy…” She looks over at Ricky, her dark brown eyes locking with his. “Love.” 

Ricky smiles and looks at the faces around the table. He’s the only one who hasn’t said anything yet. “I’m thankful for my family,” he finally says, locking eyes meaningfully with his mother. “The family at this table, and the family that isn’t in this room at the moment.”

His mother’s face lights up, her features relaxing into the easiest smile he’s seen from her since he got here. Everyone at this table is his family in some way, even when he wasn’t willing to admit it. He likely won’t ever be particularly close with his mother again. Time and pain have torn a bigger rift between them than can ever be fully repaired. But there’s still time to try. And seeing his mother make such an effort in welcoming Big Red into their home, in inviting Nini and her moms, seeing her make such an effort with  _ him  _ \- the prodigal son who swore never to return - he realizes that she’s really trying. She never stopped trying. And if that’s the case, then maybe he can try, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes our penultimate chapter. What did you think? For those who, like me, love a bit of domestic Rini, that opener was a bit of a tease. But I think you'll like the final update! School starts officially tomorrow and I'm meeting my kids for the first time virtually. I can't promise how soon the next update will be, but I do promise to work on it and have it up as soon as possible. I'll need to write to stay sane this week anyhow haha.


	5. Rivers and Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here it is - the FINAL update to this story. I'm so beyond thankful for the response this story and series has received, and like I said - it's not over yet! There will be one final story in this series before I move onto a new AU, and I'm already working on both of those. I'm so excited to share them with you, too.
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you will enjoy the finale to "Pilgrimage." I hope it gives you a comforting conclusion to Ricky's present turmoil and his relationship with his mother. Without further ado...

Ricky finds his mother in the dining room long after the others have dispersed. Todd is in the living room, entertaining his sister and Nini’s moms with stories of bizarre client requests. He somehow manages to make being a loan officer sound vaguely exciting. In another corner of the living room, Nini sits cross-legged on the floor, engaging Michelle and Big Red in quiet conversation. Lynne watches from a dining chair, smiling to herself. 

“Mom?” Ricky says softly. 

She turns to face him, her smile widening. “Oh, there you are! I was wondering where you went off to. Come sit.” She pats the chair beside her and he eases into it. 

“What are you looking at?” he questions, following her gaze.

“Everything,” Lynne answers. “And everyone. Just… Look how full the house is.” He nods. “It’s never been this full before,” she adds. “I’m so happy you joined us, Ricky. You don’t know how truly happy I am that you’re here.”

“Yeah, well, it's been a while. Figured I owed you a visit,” he deflects. 

Lynne’s hand perches on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. “No,” she shakes her head. “You really didn’t owe me anything.” She sighs. “Ricky, I know that I made a lot of mistakes. Especially right after your father and I split up...” She searches his face for some sign of protest or objection, any indication that he doesn’t want this conversation or her explanations. All she finds are dark eyes, so much like her own, wide and afraid, but listening intently. He’s always looked more like his father, but his eyes have always been hers. For a moment, she glimpses her son at twelve years-old, with the same look on his face as she broke the news that his family was about to be separated. 

“I’m sorry, Ricky,” she presses on, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry for all of those mistakes. I was selfish, then. And I wish I knew better. Maybe things would have been different.” 

“You and Dad still would have split up,” he notes. 

She nods. “Yes. Yes, we would have. But I could have done it better. I could have told you differently. I could have given you a warning instead of springing it on you last-minute. And I could have explained  _ everything  _ that was going to happen if you came to live with me - about Todd and everything else.” 

“Why didn’t you?” Ricky asks softly, looking down at his hands. His fingers are worn and rough with guitar calluses. 

Lynne sighs. “Because I wanted you to come with me, Ricky. I loved you - I  _ love  _ you - so much, and I was afraid that if I told you we would be living with Todd - that I already had someone else - you wouldn’t want to come with me. I was scared that I would lose you.” She lets out a short, bitter bark-of-a-laugh at her own words. “Ironic, isn’t it? I kept that information from you to avoid losing you, and in the process, I drove you away.” 

She turns to face him, and he can see that a glassy sheen of tears has formed in her eyes. He can see his own reflection in them. Lynne shakes her head tiredly. “I didn’t realize just how much I’d driven you away until recently. My friends with kids your age tell me all the time how they’ve only gotten closer now that their kids are adults. They understand each other better. They  _ do  _ things together: brunch and spas and movies. And I realized that with time and age, we’ve only grown further apart. I made you feel so unwelcome here, Ricky. To the point that you didn’t want to come here anymore. And I can’t blame you for that. I didn’t want to admit to myself that it was my fault, but I’ve come to see that that’s exactly the case. So I’m sorry, Ricky. I’m sorry that I led us down this path.” She pauses and draws a shaky breath in. “I’m sorry it took me this long to realize what I’d done.” 

“Anyway,” she concludes, “I’m happy that you came for Thanksgiving. And I’m so happy that you brought Big Red. And Nini.” 

“Nini was your doing,” Ricky can’t help but chuckle. 

“Perhaps,” Lynne nods. “But only because you would be here. And now look,” she gestures to the living room, where Mama C and Mama D laugh raucously at something Todd said. “The house felt warmer the minute you walked in the door. Now it feels complete.” 

Ricky smiles as he watches Nini and Big Red talk with Michelle: arguably the two most important people in his life intermingling with the people who were, for the longest time, his family by legal definition only. He wavers for a moment, torn between sympathy for his mother and the doubt that still lingers in the back of his mind. There’s an apology somewhere in his mother’s words, buried amid the self-pity and blame, and he believes it’s sincere. But is it enough?

He isn’t angry anymore. For years, he convinced himself that he was angry, and that his anger towards his mother was justified. But maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe what he was holding onto wasn’t anger, but the memory of it. Maybe he was fixating on the remembered pain and letting it tinge every interaction and thought. The hurt wasn’t imaginary, nor was it exaggerated, but perhaps the image it created of his mother - villainous, uncaring, cold - was. 

“Mom, I…” he starts, then trails off. For years, he’d practiced what he might say to his mother if he ever got this chance. His words varied depending on his mood. Sometimes, it was immensely satisfying to yell at her, to tell her that she had ruined some of the most formative years of his life and driven him to move halfway across the country. Sometimes, it felt good to tell her off one final time, and then erase her number from his phone and never speak to her again. But other times, he envisioned himself striking a conciliatory tone and appealing to the mother he knew from his childhood. He imagined shedding tears. He imagined wriggling his way into her arms the way he did when he was three. He imagined telling her that he loved her and that he could overlook the past. Even if that wasn’t true. But sitting here with her now, with every emotion warring for dominance in his head, he can’t decide what to say or how to say it.

“I regret a lot of things,” Ricky finally sighs. “I regret a lot of the things I said to you when I was a kid, and the things I said to you when I left for college. I said those things because I knew they would hurt, and I wanted them to hurt. And I’m sorry that I wanted to hurt you.” The look on his mother’s face tells him that she remembers every word: the promises to never return home, every time he wished he’d chosen to go with his dad instead, every time he wished she were dead, and every time he’d told her that she should have a child with Todd - one that she would truly love. Those moments were particularly vicious. He knew that she couldn’t have children anymore, and he knew that she and Todd both wanted to. 

“Mom, you know this won’t magically fix everything, right?” he asks quietly. She releases a watery exhale and nods. “But when I thought you might have cancer… It really got me thinking about how time is precious. We don’t have an infinite amount of it. But we have enough. We still have enough. I can’t undo the hurtful things I said to you, and you can’t undo the hurtful things you did to me, but maybe we can move on from it?” 

“I would like that, Ricky,” his mom says. 

“I would, too,” he concurs. “I’m all grown up now. I’m an adult,” he says, more to himself than her. He shifts his gaze back to Nini, who is laughing as Michelle tosses popcorn in the air and Big Red tries to catch it in his mouth. “And I’m happy, Mom. I have a great life, and great people in it. I’m really, truly happy for maybe the first time in a long time.” 

“And that’s all I want for you,” Lynne says. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Near or far, as long as you’re happy, I can be at peace.” 

He turns to his mom then, and takes in the deep-set crows’ feet and the way her skin sags ever-so-slightly. He takes in the graying roots and the subtle tiredness in her eyes, and he realizes that she’s gotten older. She’ll keep getting older. And one day, she won’t be here anymore. He once thought that he would be free when she was gone - that he would finally be able to move on. But he realizes now that the anger, held close to his chest like a security blanket, would never have allowed him to move on. He would have spent his entire life hating his mother, and when she died, he would have spent the rest of his life hating her for dying before he had a chance to change course or say something. Before he had a chance to try.

“I’m ready to let the past stay in the past,” he says finally. 

Lynne smiles. “Deal,” she agrees, squeezing his shoulder. 

He smiles at her. “Next year in Salt Lake City?” he suggests. “You can even bring Todd if you want.” He means it. He will never see Todd as anything more than his mother’s second husband, but he makes her happy, and that’s enough. 

“Next year in Salt Lake City,” Lynne agrees. 

He wraps his arms around her and feels her hug him back. It isn’t like when he was three. He’s much taller than her now, and she is much thinner than she was then. She feels almost frail when he squeezes her against him. But her hug is tight and warm and strong nonetheless. They remain like that for what feels like minutes: the longest, most sincere embrace they’ve had in years. It feels right: neither of them absolved, but both of them relieved. 

“I have a favor to ask,” Ricky says when they separate. 

“What is it?” his mom questions. 

“Can I borrow your car?” 

* * *

“Where are we going?” Nini giggles, buckling herself into the passenger seat as Ricky pushes the button in the dashboard to start the car. 

“It’s your first time in Oak Park,” he responds. “I want to show you around.” 

Nini smiles, her face lighting up like a little girl on a first date with her crush. “Am I gonna get to see your old stomping grounds?” she teases gently. “Find out where young Ricky Bowen used to hang out?” 

“Something like that,” Ricky laughs, putting the car in reverse. They ease down the road. 

“What’s that?” Nini points.

He shrugs. “A house?” 

“And that?” 

“Another house,” he laughs, catching onto her game. 

The streets are dark, illuminated only by the weak, incandescent street lights that line the road every few hundred feet. He knows every one of these streets. He remembers where the potholes and bumps should be from many, many miles spent skateboarding back and forth. They’ve been filled in now, and the road is marred by a crisscross of patches where they used to be. He used to feel claustrophobic as he rode his skateboard through his neighborhood. The houses were too close together and the street-parked cars closed in around him. But with Nini in the passenger seat, marveling at this place that once imprisoned him, he somehow doesn’t feel so closed-in anymore. The houses and street lights and bare trees no longer feel so oppressive. 

They drive past the 7-Eleven. “I used to walk to that corner store all the time and buy sour Skittles,” he tells her. “Just so I had an excuse to get out of the house.” 

“That must have been a lot of sour Skittles,” Nini observes. There is a grim sense of humor in her tone. 

“Yeah,” Ricky chuckles. “It got to the point where the cashier always had a bag ready at the register for me.” 

They stop in at Nini’s behest. “For old time’s sake,” she tells him. The cashier isn’t the same, of course, so he has to pick out his own bag of sour Skittles. Nini snatches them from his hand and pays for them herself. When they get back to the car, she starts to tear the bright green packaging open. 

“Not yet,” he says, reaching his hand out to stop her. 

“Why not?” she questions. 

He grins. “Save them,” he tells her. “There’s somewhere I want to take you.” 

Nini nods and sets the candy in the cupholder. Ricky slips his hand in hers as they head off down the road. 

“You still remember your way around?” she asks after another two blocks.

“Like the back of my hand,” he confirms. “I spent a lot of time skateboarding through this neighborhood. And driving once I got my car.” 

Nini nods. She’s always known that Ricky’s life in Chicago was far from ideal, but for the first time, she starts to understand. She can picture him, seventeen and lanky, his curly hair a mess and his mouth in a permanent droop, skateboarding down the darkened streets and leaping off the curbs. She can hear the scraping of plastic wheels on broken pavement as he tries to outrun whatever fight he just had with his mom. She can picture the confident movement of his body, propelling him down these familiar roads as he tries to escape that house and everything in it. 

“That’s the music shop,” Ricky says, pulling her from her thoughts. She slides her gaze toward him. He isn’t seventeen anymore. He doesn’t look nearly as broody as he did in his mother’s scrapbook, which she’d eagerly shown her. He smiles now. His hair is still curly and tousled. He’s still lanky as ever. But he looks happy, and she loves the way his whole face lights up every time he looks at her. Her stomach does loops every time. 

“Where?” she asks, glancing out the window. 

“There,” he points at a darkened building with a ‘For Lease’ sign in the window. “Or, it used to be there, anyway. That’s where I got all my old records and sheet music from, and it’s where I bought my first Fender.” 

“Really?” Nini grins. 

“Yup,” he says proudly. “A used acoustic. I saved up all my birthday money to get it. The guy at the shop was nice enough to hold it for me.” 

She is struck by a sudden realization. “Wait. Is that the same Fender that you have at home?” He nods, a ghost of a smile tracing his lips. She isn’t surprised. It’s typical Ricky - ever the sentimentalist. 

“Oh, and that used to be a fro-yo place,” he says, pointing to a storefront that now advertises deep dish pizza. “That’s where I got my first job.” 

“I didn’t know you were a fro-yo boy,” Nini laughs, trying to picture him in an apron and pastel-colored polo.

“Didn’t last long,” he grimaces as they drive past. “I hated that place. The owner was a dick. He used to push us around and yell at us all the time. To be honest, I’m kinda glad they went out of business.” 

They proceed down the cracked and frost-covered streets, the streetlights glinting off the windshield. The bare trees go by in a blur. Finally, Ricky brings the car to a halt in a small parking lot before a chain-link fence. “This is it,” he declares, throwing the car into park.

“Where are we?” Nini asks. 

“Trust me?” he asks, holding out a hand.

She puts her hand in his. “Always.” 

The sign on the gate says closed after sundown. “Are you sure we should be here?” Nini asks as Ricky eases the gate open and leads her through it. 

“Trust me. The cops have much more important things to worry about than two kids at the skatepark after dark.” 

She lets him guide her through the darkened skatepark, heeding his warnings to watch her step every time they approach a rail or a low ramp. “Where are you taking me?” she giggles. 

“To the best view in this neighborhood,” he answers cryptically, pulling her along. 

The air is chilly and she pulls her coat tighter about her. She wishes she wore gloves, but Ricky’s hands are always impossibly warm and she can feel the heat he radiates spreading through her body. He leads her to the halfpipe, and together they climb to the top. The height is dizzying. 

“Ricky,” Nini says, eyeing the edge nervously. “I don’t know if I can.” 

“Do you trust me?” he repeats.

She nods but doesn’t move any closer

“Neens,” he says gently, his breath visible in the frigid night air. The single streetlight in the center of the skatepark lights him up from behind. She can’t see his face, but she can see his radiant smile. “It was made for people to roll off of,” he tells her, letting her hand go and stepping up to the edge of the halfpipe. “See? Perfectly safe,” he promises, stretching out his hand in an invitation. 

She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut, steels her nerves, and steps closer until she feels his warm hand envelop her own. Gently, he eases them both down to a sitting position and lets his feet dangle over the edge. She opens her eyes and looks around. He wasn’t kidding. The halfpipe isn’t very tall. They can’t be more than twenty feet off the ground. But it’s just high enough that they can peer through the leafless branches at the houses that stretch for miles around them. The air is still. There are no cars driving past and no planes overhead. Families are still gathering in houses to celebrate, going back for their second or third helping of dessert and sleeping off the excess alcohol on the couch. She leans against Ricky’s shoulder and relaxes. 

“I used to come up here all the time,” he tells her quietly. She can feel his words reverberate through his body, vibrating against her when he speaks. “Anytime I was too in my head.” 

“Are you in your head now?” she asks. 

He smiles. “No,” he says. She fixes him with a look. “Maybe a little,” he concedes. “But in a good way.” 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“Us,” he replies. “How far we’ve come.” 

It’s her turn to smile. “Yes,” she agrees. “We’ve definitely come a long way since directing our first show together.” 

He laughs. “Thank god for EJ and Gina.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Nini reaches into her pocket and pulls out the bag of sour Skittles. She tears it open and dumps a handful into her palm, holding them out for him. He carefully avoids the orange ones and plucks out a handful of red and green. He leaves the purple ones for her because they’re her favorite. She pops a purple candy into her mouth and immediately puckers at the sourness. Ricky laughs at her expression, and she can’t help but laugh with him. 

“Man, this takes me back,” he exults. 

“Thanks for showing me around,” she tells him. “I love seeing the place where you grew up. Kinda makes me wish I knew you then.” 

He snorts. “I’m glad you didn’t.” 

“Oh, c’mon.” 

“I’m serious, Neens,” Ricky says softly. “I wouldn’t have deserved you.” 

“Don’t say that,” Nini admonishes, her hand closing around his bicep. “I would have loved you then like I love you now.

“You don’t know that.” He turns, casting his gaze far out across the park. An unreadable look passes over his face. “I was an angry, bitter person in high school. Like,  _ seriously  _ angry. I did my best to hide it, but it was always there.” 

“You’re entitled to your anger,” Nini tells him. 

“I know. But I’m not entitled to take it out on other people. And that’s what I did.” 

Nini begins to rub slow circles in his arm. “You’re a better person now, Ricky, and I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you for coming here. I’m so proud of you for facing your mom and for saying what you needed to say, and for listening to what she needed to say, too. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Thank you for giving me the push to do it,” he says. “I mean it, Neens. I may be a better person now, but I owe a lot of that to you.” 

“You don’t complete me, you complement me,” Nini murmurs. “Didn’t you say that to me once?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, I did. Because I was already complete, but having you in my life makes everything better. Knowing you makes  _ me  _ better.” 

He loves the way she smiles shyly. Nini is a breath of fresh air - a buoy, not an anchor. He tries to picture what it would have been like to know her in high school. He would have thought she was stunning, no doubt. But if he’d ever worked up the nerve to talk to her, he inevitably would have let her down.“I’m glad we met as adults,” he concludes. “Better place, better time.” 

“I would love you across any distance,” Nini replies. “And at any time.” 

She leans in and catches his lips in a soft kiss. Her lips are soft and inviting, and he tips her chin upward, bringing her closer to him until she’s on top of him and he’s lying flat on his back at the top of the halfpipe. She presses against him. Her downy coat is pillowy against his chest and her fingers travel upward to tangle in his hair, sending pleasurable shivers up his spine. She tastes like the lingering sweetness of sour Skittles. For the first time, the air of melancholy that has shrouded this place in his mind is gone. Despite the cold November air surrounding them, he is certain that he has never felt more warm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes "Pilgrimage." I would love to hear your thoughts. Ricky's relationship with his mom is by no means repaired, but I wanted to leave with a kernel of hope that things can improve, even if they will never get back to where they were. Time is precious, but while we are alive, we have enough of it. It's never too late for any of us to make a change that we want to make, and I hope that this story has helped to illustrate that.
> 
> The next story will hopefully be up soon. When I sat down to write this chapter, I felt so beautifully free. With all the stress of school reopening (which is going as well as it can, and I love my students so much already), this has been such a positive outlet and I want to keep it going. So keep an eye out for the next story soon! Thank you all for being here.

**Author's Note:**

> So that's chapter one! In total, this work will span five chapters and I've got a couple of surprises up my sleeve. Ricky's got a long journey ahead of him, but thankfully (get it? THANKfully? Like THANKSgiving?) he's got some great friends to support him through it. For those coming from the other stories, thank you for reading! And for those just joining us, thank you for starting! I'd love to hear your thoughts - they always keep me motivated as I write. Until next chapter!


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